Children of Time, Ep 12: Every Good Fairytale
by Wholmes Productions
Summary: Beth Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes have escaped from Professor Moriarty, but with Torchwood in hot pursuit across a war-torn Continent, their adventures are only beginning... and their only hope of survival lies in each other. Part 3 of the season finale.
1. Falling Through Space

**==Chapter 1==**

 **Falling Through Space**

 _We would have to run away, we would have to leave behind everything but each other._

– Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated

After a long trek through mixed-and-matched London, Beth Lestrade was relieved to reach one of the Irregulars' boltholes scattered across the city. Most of them were at or near the locations of Sherlock Holmes's original boltholes, all of which had disappeared when Time froze—the sense of familiarity comforted the boys. Beth drew the key out of hiding and unlocked the door, opening it into a small attic room in a disused house.

She moved forward to prepare for a trip across the Channel, not pausing to rest on the threadbare but enticing sofa and not looking at Sherlock Holmes, who all but stumbled into the room after her. She didn't know what to make of him, if she even felt _safe_ around him—he might have been willing to run with her and talk their way out of Moriarty killing them both, but she couldn't forget how he had acted when she first found him. How cold he'd been. Cruel, almost. Moriarty had a lot to answer for.

Holmes made his way to the battered sofa and sank down onto it gratefully. Their long walk had forcibly brought home to him how woefully unfit he'd become, and he was still feeling rather chilled from the fog and damp, having forgotten to don his overcoat before leaving his quarters. He'd only managed to steal... _borrow_ an old coat from someone's clothesline shortly before arriving here, which was probably just a few washes away from becoming dusters, anyhow. He was also still in something of a daze over recent events... even now, he could hardly believe they'd actually made it out of Torchwood alive!

Beth pulled out clothes and packed supplies with practised ease, having helped set up this bolthole herself. _Just finish the bags, and then you can sit for a minute_. Well, maybe more than a minute, but not much more. She was good by now at forcing herself to keep moving when she didn't want to.

He sat numbly watching her work at first, vaguely wondering after a while if he ought to assist, although he was finding it hard enough just to remain upright on the sofa and not curl up into a ball. He couldn't remember the last time he'd willingly closed his eyes...

At last she gathered up the courage to glance his way—then closed her eyes for a moment in pity and concern. She could almost imagine what it was like to lose a brother, and she didn't want to. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

Holmes flinched, insides crawling at the sympathy in her voice, staring red-faced at the floor. It was bad enough having her see him like this in the first place, but of all the inappropriate moments to zone out, this had to be one of the worst. He nodded stiffly without looking up, gaze falling on the loose board she'd just taken up, revealing a makeshift larder. "Have you, er... eaten lately?"

Beth felt herself colouring—she wasn't sure why. "Ah, earlier, yes…" She'd had one chunk of unleavened bread hours ago and she hadn't been planning on trying to eat anything more for the 'day', long since used to going without as much as two meals a day. In any case, she was too nervous about the coming challenge to even think about eating right now.

He levered himself off the sofa and came forward to see what they had in the way of provisions. It was little enough: pilot bread, dried fruit, and a small wedge of cheese. Well, at least they wouldn't have to worry about any of it going mouldy. He frowned as the smell made his stomach growl treacherously, sternly controlling his first impulse and offering the box to Beth. She was alarmingly thin now, almost to the point of gauntness; besides, he'd eaten himself not long before her arrival at Torchwood.

Oh, why did he do that? Now she was tempted... but she closed her eyes, bit her lip, and wrenched her thoughts away from her hunger. She shook her head. "That'll have to be for the road. Just in case—you never know when something'll go wrong."

Conceding the point, he wrapped up the food in a clean cloth and added it to the rest of the gear. "Speaking of which..." It was starting to dawn on him that he didn't even have any idea of where they were to go next – he'd been unconsciously assuming all this time that Beth must have some kind of plan for eluding their pursuers... didn't she?

Beth finished her packing and sank onto the sofa with a soft groan. "Well, we can't stay here in Britain—we have to get to the Continent." There was no way the two of them could stay together in the British Isles without Torchwood finding them—Beth on her own or with the boys could disappear and become a boy herself, but now Torchwood had a _pair_ to look for. "A smugglers' ship is our best bet, and it shouldn't be too difficult to find one that will take us." Hopefully one in particular would be willing; she had had a couple of dealings with Tom Johnstone by now. "Smuggling is _huge_ business nowadays—even smuggling people."

"I see..." Holmes hesitated a moment before sitting down again beside Beth, only slightly less tense than a coiled spring – but it was the only seat in the room and they both needed what rest they could get. "You have some means of funding our passage, I presume."

Beth nodded and withdrew the somewhat-reduced gem pouch from the inside of her jacket, handing it over to Sherlock. She'd been using its contents only when very, very necessary, keeping it as the emergency reserve. "This will see us quite a ways," she murmured.

He could tell by the feel that the bag held precious stones, but tipped a few onto his palm anyhow, lips pursing in a silent whistle at their obvious quality. "Right around the globe, I should think." Deciding not to ask where she'd gotten them from – if they were stolen, he was probably better off not knowing – he put the gems back in the pouch and handed it back to Beth. "So what now?"

Beth hid the pouch again and sighed. She just wanted to go home, back to Sally and the gang, but the developments in Sherlock as a person had certainly sent that option flying out the window. "Well, we've got to get down to Sussex, and I prefer going on horseback, so we need to buy us some rides. It's probably been an hour since we left Torchwood... I think we ought to be able to make it to Brittany within twenty-four hours."

Holmes's lips twitched mirthlessly – he'd never dreamed he would ever have to go on a second hiatus. "Well, as to horses, I may yet know of a discreet dealer or two..." He couldn't imagine that Frozen Time had disrupted business in the least for the people he was thinking of. "I don't suppose you know if Jack Hawkins is still operating in Blackheath?" Hawkins had run a stable which specialised in finding new owners for 'lost' horses.

She tilted her head, thinking. "I've heard of him, yeah—just never been there." Oh—she realised that she probably needed to tell him about his own unique status in this version of Reality. She didn't want to, but if they met up with anyone else who knew him... "Did you know him?"

"Fairly well, although I doubt he'd recognise me. He hired me unawares as a temporary stablehand every so often." He looked at her inquringly, she seemed suddenly hesitant. "What is it?"

Sighing, she pressed her lips together as she mulled over how to say it. "Sherlock," she began gently, "the way this world works... you and Watson aren't strictly a part of it. When everything first hit the fan, Sally made it back to Baker Street—Mrs. Hudson didn't know her... didn't _have_ lodgers."

Holmes stared, his vanished keys on returning to 221B taking on a whole new significance. "Dear God..." But then... if Mrs. Hudson didn't remember any of them, how could the Irregulars...? He shook his head, giving up – it was all too much to take in at present, and they couldn't afford to linger.

Beth hesitated, then reached over and gave his hand a brief, comforting squeeze. She was starting to wonder if Sherlock's initial coldness had been a mask—he was as vulnerable now as he'd ever been before everything had gone wrong. She really wanted simply to hug him, but that would probably be too great a liberty. Releasing his hand, she forced herself to rise to her feet, slung one packed bag over her shoulder, and handed the other to Sherlock. "Wanna try for Blackheath, then?"

Taken by surprise when she took his hand, he was unable to think of how to respond before she let go again. Masking his inner confusion, he rose after her, shouldered the bag she handed him and started heading for the door... then remembered with chagrin that she now knew the streets of London far better than he did, and sighed. "Lead on."

She smiled ruefully and stepped out, waiting for him before she closed the door, only to pause. Was this the last time she'd ever see this place? She sighed and closed the door, turning back to Sherlock. Oh, zed boundaries, just this once: she reached for his hand again and gripped it firmly, her gaze daring him to pull away. They were about to set off on a dangerous journey, there was no telling if they'd survive, and they were all each other had now—so she _really_ needed some physical contact to hold her emotionally steady. In all fairness, Beth might still love Sherlock, but she'd much rather have Sally with her right now.

He looked at her a trifle warily, but didn't let go, feeling strangely relieved at the physical reminder that this hiatus would not be a solo journey. He was a free man again, true, but his exhilaration at the fact had long since given way to the old flutter of panic that had kept him company during his long flight from Switzerland, the constant fear of being run to ground... and there was no knowing whether having a companion this time would help more than it would hinder.

As they left, his gaze fell on their joined hands, and a memory stirred, unbidden... _Beth's hand in his as they ran through the forest, laser fire exploding around them... her voice as she took the Doctor's trembling hand in hers... "We're_ _falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world... and you mustn't let go..."_ He shook his head slightly to dislodge the thought, this was hardly the time to be daydreaming – but to his consternation and annoyance, it remained stubbornly in place.

* * *

Beth and Sherlock were en route to Blackheath when Beth startled to a halt, gasping, feeling something she hadn't felt since Kathy's birth. Nikola's voice in her head. _Beth,_ he said anxiously. _Beth, can you hear me?_

"Nikola?" Beth said aloud. "Ah..." She darted a glance at Sherlock. "It's Nikola." Finding them both shelter in a nearby doorway, she then focused on what she was actually thinking. _Nikola? Hello?_

Startled himself by her reaction, Sherlock tried to tune in, but to his combined relief and disappointment, he could 'hear' nothing. Sighing at Beth's faraway expression, he shifted his attention back to their surroundings, keeping watch.

Nikola sighed in relief. _Thank God. Are you all right? I couldn't sense you once you entered Torchwood, Moriarty's psychic field was completely blocking me._

 _Zed. Yeah, I'm... all right. It's complicated. Sherlock's with me—that's complicated, too._

She felt Nikola frown. _How is he?_

 _Not... not_ _ **good**_ _. He is nowhere_ _ **remotely**_ _near ready to meet John on the terms we need him to... Moriarty's done a lot of damage._ She felt her heart beat faster as she continued—what the _zed_ had she gotten herself into?! _Made a deal with Moriarty: we've got about twenty-three more hours before he unleashes Torchwood on us._ She took a deep breath. _We have to get out of Britain._

Nikola didn't sound happy, but he didn't argue when he replied, _I suppose you know what you're doing..._ He winced. _So what am I supposed to tell Watson?_

She couldn't quite quash the voice in her head that hissed that Nikola could thank John for her for helping make such a mess, but she pushed the voice back into the dark corner of her mind where it belonged and hoped that Nikola hadn't heard it. That was _horrible_ of her. _...I don't know. I'd imagine that he already knows what's wrong._ _You guys need to be more alert now than ever—I made that deal without Moriarty knowing about John, and I can't imagine that'll go down well. If you can get in touch with me every so often, too, I'd appreciate that._

Nikola smiled. _Of course. And don't worry about Torchwood finding us—_ he sighed _—I suspect the real challenge will be convincing Watson to stay at Rosewood, once he's taken it into his head that he ought to be going after you._

 _Oh zed. Well, make sure he knows that I don't want to give_ _ **anybody**_ _the chance to find us! This is going to be scary enough without having to worry about him, too._

Nikola frowned. _Beth..._ He grimaced, as if hating what he was about to say. _Forgive me, I... I know how it is for you... but please, tell me truthfully... are you_ _ **sure**_ _you can trust him?_

She closed her eyes briefly, face twisting. Three years ago, she would have said yes. Even in 1988, she might have said yes. But though she loved the man walking beside her right now, she did not truly know him, and she... she couldn't...

 _...no. Not completely. I can trust him not to act in any way that would serve Moriarty's purposes, but... He_ _ **is**_ _changed, and—oh,_ _ **gosh**_ _, Nikola, this is going to take_ _ **so much work!**_

Nikola's presence was as gentle and reassuring as her mother wrapping her up in a warm blanket on a cold winter's night. _As long as he'll watch your back—that's the most important thing right now._ He reached out and gave her a mental hug. _And we're here, too, if you need us._

Calmer from his efforts, she smiled sadly. _Thanks_...

He let her go, murmuring, _Godspeed,_ _draga_.

 _Stay safe,_ she murmured back. She shivered as the touch upon her mind melted away—Nikola's presence was one of warmth and safety—and looked ruefully at Sherlock. "Sorry about that."

Holmes shrugged, frown fading – he'd been keeping one eye on Beth's changing expressions with curiosity and not a little frustration, unable to read her thoughts from her face. "Well?"

She shrugged tiredly. "Basically just updating Nikola on what's going on. He's going to check in every so often to make sure we're okay." That, at least, was a comfort.

Holmes nodded, more stiffly than he'd intended – after, all what did it matter that Tesla had spoken to Beth and not to him?

"…Nikola was psychically hiding me and Sally from Moriarty for a long time—he's still doing it for Sally and Kathy." She wondered what the Professor had sensed from her once Nikola lifted his shield. Had he felt anything? "Once I entered Torchwood, though, he couldn't even reach me, thanks to Moriarty's psychic field, so he was pretty concerned."

"So _that's_ why..." Holmes murmured unthinkingly, eyes wide, then closed his mouth again hastily.

Curious, Beth looked at him. "What? "

Holmes looked away in growing discomfort, wishing fervently he'd kept his mouth shut. "Never mind..." he muttered, and stepped back out into the street. Of all the things he would rather not think about, Watson's first meeting with Moriarty was almost at the top of the list, never mind how much worse it could have gone if the Professor had known that Watson had remarried.

Beth sighed in frustration as she followed, tired in every way possible and no longer willing to walk on eggshells around Sherlock. "The Irregulars are doing just fine, by the way, thanks for the concern," she said tartly, with every intention of provoking a reaction.

"I had surmised as much," Holmes replied primly, although he was inwardly kicking himself for not inquiring sooner.

"Of course," she said flatly. All this time that the boys had been so worried about him... had he thought about them at all?

Needled by her tone, he answered through gritted teeth. "If there had been any question of their ability to survive, I should never have employed them in the beginning –" tone turning sardonic, "although I do hope you and Mrs. Watson didn't overindulge the younger ones." It wasn't as if _he'd_ been in any position to act on their behalf, after all!

She was surprised into laughing helplessly. How _dare_ he? "Over... over _indulge_? You seriously think... Well, yes, I guess we have, if overindulgence counts as ensuring a steady roof over their heads and a stable source of _affection and comfort_. That doesn't mean that it's easy keeping an entire small army _fed_ and _warm_ and _safe_. We haven't been _living_ , Sherlock—we've been _surviving_." Okay, so maybe that wasn't quite true, but wasn't as if it had been easy to provide and care for dozens of boys!

Dear God, yet another thing he'd forgotten: how easily that scornful laugh of hers could set his teeth on edge. "While, of course, _I_ was living the high life as Moriarty's guest of honour, not a care in the world!"

"That's _not_ what I meant!" _That's not entirely true, though, is it?_ a little voice whispered in her head. It had been a shock to find him doing so well, physically—was she a bit resentful of that? "This hasn't been easy for anybody!"

"My word," he replied sourly, "something we can finally agree on!" Did she really think him so completely self-absorbed that he couldn't sympathise with anyone else's circumstances?

A stony silence reigned between them for a minute or two, until something Beth had said earlier began niggling at him. "So where _is_ this 'steady roof' of yours, anyhow?" he asked abruptly; no use attempting to deduce where it might be, far too many variables.

She bit her lip—this part she had been dreading, ever since they first discovered what Rosewood Hall had been. "An estate in Warwickshire," she murmured, "it was abandoned. We didn't even know the family until we researched the crest..." She hesitated—what would he think of their large group living in his childhood home?

He stared at her as he made the connection; Beth's hesitation was the biggest clue, if it had been anyone else's estate in those parts, she would have said so. Then Holmes started to laugh silently, greatly taken with the sheer irony of it – his ancestors in the Long Gallery must all be turning in their gilded frames! Well, with the exception of his grandfather, perhaps...

She stared back, uncertain and discomfited. "I-it was empty, an-and it was big and far from London..."

He waved a hand, cutting her off. "My dear Beth, do I truly seem at all put out at your laying claim to that draught-ridden old heap?" His airy tone couldn't quite conceal the grim undernote. "You could raze it to the ground, for all I care – although I concede that wouldn't be terribly beneficial at this point."

She winced and looked away, feeling homesick already—and sad that she apparently felt more affection for the place than he did. "I think it's beautiful," she said softly.

Holmes gave a mild snort. "But as you say: big, empty, and far from London. Of what use would that have been to me?" He felt profoundly relieved on seeing that they were approaching Hawkins's stable, effectively bringing their conversation to an end – they hadn't even left London, and already conversing with her was sorely trying his patience.

Beth didn't answer, lowering her gaze, feeling way in over her head and wishing she was running home rather than away from it.

* * *

Holmes rode through Sussex mainly in silence. His surroundings were forcibly reminding him that he had once thought of retiring here before the Doctor came – he'd even considered asking Watson to join him… Eventually, however, it dawned on him that Beth was growing increasingly tense as they approached Newhaven, and her mount was picking up on it. Anxious to prevent an accident, he quickly reined in his own horse. "Whoa."

Startled out of her own brooding, Beth reined in her horse. "Whoa, boy." She twisted around and frowned at Sherlock. "What's wrong?"

"Well, seeing as it is _your_ horse growing ever more skittish," he frowned back sternly, "I was hoping you could enlighten me – before either of us ends up with a broken neck."

She dropped her gaze, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. "It's nothing..." Which was a blatant lie—'it' was practically _everything_ , not least of which was the fact that they were about to leave the relatively stable Britain for a war-torn Europe, and she just wasn't ready for that. But for the sake of his question... "I just hope we don't run into the press gangs again..."

Holmes's eyes widened, impressed in spite of himself. "Well," he remarked lightly, "you obviously emerged from that encounter relatively unscathed." He wondered if Beth had any idea how fortunate she was not to have been conscripted... and how had she even managed to escape, for that matter?

She looked up slowly—his light tone sounded genuine this time. "Will's good at slipping ropes, and we had a little help from the pterosaurs here on the coast... "

Pterosaurs?! The detective's hands tightened on the reins, processing that unexpected piece of data in apprehensive silence. Something Watson had mercifully failed to mention in 'The Speckled Band': Holmes detested _all_ reptiles, not merely snakes! If he'd known earlier that there was a chance of coming across any of the giant, _flying_ variety...

Beth noticed his unease with surprise; Sherlock Holmes afraid of any other reptiles was _not_ something she would have imagined. "I think they stick mostly to the cliffs. Believe me, as awesome as they are, I really don't want to have a run-in with them again!"

"...I can imagine," Holmes managed to answer wryly, although he was doing his best not to. Reluctantly, he urged his mount onwards, attention now warily divided between the road and the sky; given the choice between a press gang and a huge, winged lizard, he'd opt for the human predators every time.

* * *

 **Ria:** Aaand here we go again, wanting to hug and slap our two heroes at the same time... *sigh* I gotta say, though: a sulking Holmes is lots of fun to write! His fear of reptiles in general is purely my own headcanon, btw.

And yes, the title of this episode _is_ from where you BBC fans think it is – given the epic journey to come, we just couldn't resist!

 **Sky:** And yes, we know that the proper quote is "every fairy-tale needs a good, old-fashioned villain"... yeah, that was my mistake, sorry. But it makes for a good title!

Aaaaahhhh, and I am _so_ excited about this episode! This is probably actually my favorite of the whole season, and I can't wait to share it all with you guys.

So stay tuned, please review, and Happy Who Day tomorrow! ;)


	2. A Second Hiatus

**==Chapter 2==**

 **A Second Hiatus**

 _I always marvel at the humans' ability to keep going. They always manage to stagger on even with tears streaming down their faces._

– Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

Beth and Sherlock reached Newhaven without any major mishaps, their sole sighting of a pterosaur being far out across the Channel. Once in town, Beth headed directly for The Blue Raven, the inn at which Tom Johnstone could be reached. At the door, she paused and turned to Sherlock.

"Okay, gonna leave a message here for a friend—with any luck, he's not currently on the other side of the Channel. And if he is..." She shrugged, more lightly than she felt. "Guess we'll just have to get another ride." Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, threading her way around the tables to the bar.

The bartender approached her. "What'll it be, then?"

"Rot-gut, half pint," she replied in an Estuary accent she'd spent several weeks practicing. She couldn't risk having anything stronger than a light beer right now. When the bartender handed her the mug, she said, "Don't s'pose yew've seen John Carpenter lately?"

"Might've done. What yer want with 'im?" The barman's hand withdrew – the drink was now on the house.

"Nothin' special," she said, "jus' got some extra lumber for 'im."

"Fine, I'll tell 'im."

Beth nodded her thanks and set to work on her beer. She did need it.

* * *

Waiting impatiently in the biting wind a few doors away, Holmes was relieved to see Beth finally re-emerge from the tavern and head for the docks. He followed at a discreet distance until she signalled him from a side street, only rejoining her after a quick glance around to make certain he hadn't been followed himself. "So, this friend of yours, who is he?"

"Ever heard of Tom Johnstone? " Beth murmured.

Holmes's eyebrows raised. "I have indeed." So this was how she and the boys had been getting to France! "But what is the Hampshire Smuggler doing this far south?"

Both of them were startled by a grating voice coming suddenly from the shadows, "Might ask the same o' you, old chum."

Beth recognised the voice, but that didn't stop her from whipping out her revolver and aiming in the direction of it.

Sam Dawson, Johnstone's first mate, emerged from the gloom with two more crewmen behind him, weapons held ready. "Ben, lad..." the smuggler tutted, shaking his head regretfully, "thought you had that cove tailin' you. Never would've pegged you as a snitch..."

Beth's eyes widened, Dawson's accusation startling her out of her teenage boy's voice into something higher-pitched. "What?!" Cursing inwardly, she recovered and said, "No, he's a _friend_! And we both need Johnstone's help—there's no double-crossing going on here, I swear!"

Dawson snorted. "Oh, _friend_ , is it? Well, yer friend's got 'China Street pig' stamped all over 'im!"

One of his men grinned nastily, sending Beth's heart pounding. "Reckon it goes right the way through, Sam? Stick o' rock, like?"

"'Ow 'bout we 'ave a york?" the third one chimed in.

As the trio advanced, Holmes slipped his hand into his coat and drew the knife he'd kept hidden until now, bracing himself. "You may do your worst with me, gentlemen," he said, quiet voice belying his hammering pulse – the odds seemed fairly good that he _was_ about to find out what colour his innards were; "but you will not touch the boy. Ben, get out of here."

Beth shook her head and raised her revolver, touched by his protectiveness. "We've been over this already." She wasn't leaving him, no matter how dangerous it got.

A familiar baritone sounded quietly from behind them: "Wait on, men." Beth breathed a sigh of relief as Johnstone came into view, as handsome and self-assured as ever. The man might lack scruples as far as the law was concerned, but she trusted his good sense and judgment, particularly since he protected the secret of her gender. As he drew closer, he looked Beth and Sherlock over with interest. "We meet again, lad."

She smiled faintly at him.

Holmes lowered his knife only a fraction, swearing silently – Beth trusting the smuggler enough to relax her guard was no reason for him to do the same. He'd thought that living under constant surveillance at Torchwood would keep him in training, but this was the second time in as many minutes that a cut-throat had gotten close enough for an ambush!

Dawson didn't appear any less suspicious, either. "Cap'n, the boy was leadin' this..."

Johnstone interrupted, looking amused. "Never seen an exciseman with a bowsprit like that –" sharp blue eyes took in the detective's profile; "and take a york at his mawleys!" Holmes bristled further at the audible tone of contempt as the captain gestured at his hands, hands which had admittedly been sheltered from all but tobacco stains for the last nine months. "This cove never saw a proper day's strap in his life!" Johnstone turned back to Beth, head tilted thoughtfully. "Well, now... I know smuggling flash culls is good business, but aren't you two tracking the wrong way?"

Beth shook her head wearily. "The insane thing is that it'll be safer for us on the Continent. Are you headed that way soon?"

Johnstone's eyes narrowed. "Got someone on your tail?" He was clearly wondering if transporting them would be more trouble than it was worth.

"Indeed, Captain," Holmes answered gravely, "powerful enemies who would like nothing more than to see both of us behind bars – or worse. We're not denying it's a greater risk... but at the very least, worth considering." Johnstone was essentially a mercenary, but there was no guarantee he'd accept a higher offer, and to make an outright assumption of that sort would be a grave insult.

Johnstone looked thoughtful; Beth silently begged him to accept. She didn't have time to try to hunt down the Lestrades who were in the mooncursing business themselves. Their twenty-four hours were running out, and she wanted them on French soil before the end of it.

Shaking his head, Johnstone turned to Beth. "Lad, I hope you know what you're doing!"

"Trust me," she said solemnly, "I do."

He nodded, and she was hard pressed not to breathe a sigh of relief. "Let's be off, then."

* * *

James Moriarty was in the midst of plotting out Elizabeth Lestrade's future when a knock sounded on his office door, followed by Moran's voice: "Professor?"

"Come in, Colonel," Moriarty called.

Moran strode in, not troubling to conceal his satisfaction. "Sir, I have the latest report on Holmes and the girl. They were last seen in a tavern in Newhaven. "

Moriarty arched an eyebrow. "Then it would seem they are hardly exercising caution. Curious." Holmes was acting downright _recklessly_... "Do take a seat, Moran. " He waited for Moran to do just that, then laced his finger together and continued. "I have been working out the details of our… recovery… operation. First of all, you and Jones will go together; and this is by no means an insult to your talents, Colonel—it is simply a matter of practicality. There can be no room for error."

The gleam in Moran's eyes swiftly turned from relish to resentment; he'd seen enough of Jones at work to at least respect the man's abilities, but still...! "Yes, sir."

Moriarty almost hesitated before continuing **:** he knew exactly what his lieutenant's response would be, and he did not look forward to the inevitable disagreement. "And I want both our fugitives alive, unharmed, unmolested—yes, Colonel, even Holmes. Watson was Holmes's breaking point; Holmes will be Miss Lestrade's."

The Colonel's lips tightened before answering carefully, "Forgive me, Professor... but you seem to have left me... _us_ almost no room to operate. Our two fugitives are unlikely to surrender, voluntarily or not, without some form of physical persuasion." Which he would be only too happy to provide.

What Moriarty sensed of Moran's thoughts made him reply a bit more acidly than he otherwise would have. "Surely, Colonel, there are ways of recovering them without _injuring_ them."

"There are indeed, sir, but you have to understand I still can't give you any guarantees." Moran's tone turned innocent. "After all, Professor, you were prepared to give Holmes his head and allow him the chance to outwit you..." If Moriarty wanted certainties, perhaps _he_ should be the one to go after them!

The Professor's eyes narrowed at the unspoken message; surely Moran understood why he could not retrieve Holmes and Elizabeth personally. "Clearly, a mistake I shall not make again. And I will still appreciate your caution, especially with the girl." He knew what Moran was capable of doing to the unfortunate women he wanted to bed, and Elizabeth could not be allowed to come to harm, not now.

Moran's jaw tightened, resentment deepening at being told how to do his job by a man who spent all day pulling other people's strings – it wouldn't hurt Moriarty to get his hands dirty for a change. "Of course, sir."

Moriarty sighed; he never enjoyed rocky relations with his right-hand. "Moran, do understand that I still hold your abilities in the highest regard. I believe you will not have any great difficulty in recovering Holmes and Lestrade; the girl, especially, is exhausted and will not be able to continue for very much longer." He had sensed that the poor child had been expecting victory, on the last leg of her endurance, and that the enforced change of plans had been disheartening.

The Colonel's eyes narrowed. "So they'll be looking for a place to hole up – and preferably in a climate where heads stay on shoulders." France was therefore unlikely, most of the Continent, come to that... "I wonder..." A grin began to spread across his face – the irony of the thing was marvellous. "Didn't Switzerland close her borders when the rest of Europe started getting restless?" He snorted. "As if anyone else would even try invading _them_!" Never mind all the mountain ranges, it was common knowledge nowadays that the country was as riddled as its cheeses with bunkers and tunnels. Even Bonaparte had finally worked out that any attempt at conquest there would be suicide.

The Professor smiled and nodded. "Yes, she did, and I would venture to say that she is currently the second safest nation in the world." He couldn't begrudge Switzerland that status, either—she had earned it.

Moran hummed in agreement. "Would you be good enough to provide a couple of diplomatic passports, Professor? If they cross any borders ahead of us, I'd rather not have to negotiate with the patrols as well."

"But of course." Fortunately, Torchwood had acquired good relations by now with all reigning governments in Europe... not that all of said governments knew that they were dealing with a British organisation. "They can be ready within the hour. Is there anything else you wish to take with you?"

"If the lab team have improved the paralytic serum since its latest field test." The girl had clearly been having trouble breathing when they'd last met – the Torchwood scientists had been working to negate that effect of the drug since its creation – and Moran couldn't afford to have it happen again.

Moriarty nodded. "I believe they have. Will that be all?"

"I believe so. If you'll excuse me, Professor, I should go and confer with my esteemed colleague."

Moriarty's eyes narrowed—none but those who knew the Colonel well would have detected the hint of sarcasm. However, he could not simply allow Moran to handle the operation however he wished; Moriarty did not even want to speculate how Moran would have chosen to catch the pair alone. "Very well. I hope to see the four of you reasonably soon." The Professor smiled faintly. "Good hunting."

"Thank you, sir." Moran rose and left, closing the door behind him with exaggerated care.

* * *

One of the great ironies of Holmes's early career was discovering that extreme peril often went hand in hand with extreme boredom – and this Channel crossing very soon proved itself a classic example. Once his and Beth's blindfolds were removed, it took the detective all of ten minutes to deduce the personal lives of every single oarsman, though he took care not to attempt the same with Johnstone at the helm, leaving Holmes with nothing to do except sit and stare out over the heaving water into the perpetual grey light of the false dawn. No horizon could be seen yet, making him very thankful that his last meal had been so long ago – he'd never liked sea travel at the best of times, although the motion of the boat was pleasantly lulling just now. If he could have fallen asleep sitting upright, he would gladly have done so, but every time his eyes closed, icy spray kept hitting him in the face and snapping him awake.

Beth, for her part, decided that she could do with a nap. She smiled tiredly at Johnstone and said, "I think I'm going to catch a few winks." He nodded and smiled back, and she blushed—there was just something about that particular smile that made her feel... she wasn't sure what. Sherlock had certainly never smiled at her like that. When Sherlock looked at her, she was positive he saw only a girl; when Johnstone looked at her, she rather thought he saw a woman, and she liked that.

But her conflicting emotions were not going to keep her awake. She wound her way around the boat to find the driest, softest spot, and ended up on a group of sacks that weren't so hard that they'd prevent her from sleeping. "This'll do..."

Well, thank heaven for small mercies, Holmes thought grimly – Beth would have a much harder time making a fool of herself while sleeping, he hoped. Unconsciously making sheep's eyes at a man who clearly had more than one paramour already... could only end... in disaster...

He jumped as Johnstone elbowed him in the ribs. "God's sake, you chub, find a berth before you keel over!" The smuggler nodded over at Beth with a knowing grin. "Plenty of room next to the boy there." He saw Holmes's expression and sighed. "And here I thought one was slightly less bird-witted than the rest..."

Holmes gave Johnstone a haughty stare, but then reluctantly conceded the point and made his way over to where Beth was still trying to get comfortable.

She looked up as she continued to adjust her claimed space. Oh good, she was hoping he'd take the opportunity to get some rest. "Hey. "

He nodded stiffly. "I don't suppose..." he began, then trailed off, cheeks scarlet, at a loss to even phrase the question – even their time together at Baker Street hadn't been this awkward!

"Right, hold on…" Beth tried to shift the sacks around further to create more space for him, but they were too heavy to move very far. "It's okay, I don't take up much room." She blushed hard—sheesh, awkward.

Trying to look as if he hadn't noticed, Holmes steeled himself and crawled forward. "Well, perhaps with, ah, backs together would be best." Fighting together in such close quarters wouldn't have bothered him, but _this_...

She shrugged and curled up into a ball, tucking in her limbs. It was her normal state in sleeping these days, after spending enough 'nights' out in the damp cold of London streets.

Relieved by her practical attitude, he lay down next to her cautiously and pulled his coat tighter around himself, head pillowed on his arm.

"Are you okay?" she murmured. She wasn't sure why she asked... except that he probably wasn't okay, and she wanted to help.

Holmes sighed wearily, although still tense from the contact – under normal circumstances, this sort of sleeping arrangement would be highly compromising. "Perfectly, thank you for asking..." He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, hoping she'd get the message.

She hummed softly in response, half asleep already. "'Night..."

"Good night..." Holmes was tired enough that he had to make an effort to use her alias; "Ben." He couldn't deny that she'd more than earned the rest. It suddenly occurred to him as he drifted towards sleep that he hadn't actually thanked her for... well, anything... although right now – cold, bone-weary and ravenously hungry – he wasn't even sure if he wanted to.

* * *

"Sorry to disturb you again, Professor."

James Moriarty arched an eyebrow at his lieutenant. "You are back far sooner than I'd hoped you'd be."

"Yes, sir..." Moran tried not to look smug; "but I believe you'll find this item most interesting. " He took the Lestrade girl's phone from his coat pocket and set it on the desk.

Moriarty eyed the phone with undisguised interest—to his knowledge, there were only two such phones in the world at this time and the other he had in his own pocket, which made this one... "I take it this is Miss Lestrade's telephone? "

"Yes, sir. The girl must have lost it during our last... encounter." Moran hoped that Moriarty would be too intrigued to wonder just when he'd acquired it. "If I may make so bold, Professor – the phone itself isn't nearly as interesting as what it contains. "

Moriarty raised both eyebrows expectantly. "Then, pray, enlighten me."

"The girl was keeping a journal of sorts on that device." The Colonel smirked – he'd already gained many priceless insights into the mind of his quarry. "I imagine it should make for enthralling reading. "

Moriarty's eyes widened ever so slightly; such information on his future protégé would be _invaluable_. Nevertheless, he managed to keep his tone even as he replied, "Enthralling indeed. Thank you, Colonel. "

"Not at all, Professor." Even with an unwelcome hanger-on, this hunt should be most satisfying.

* * *

 **Ria:** Can you tell I love Regency-era slang? Researching the language Johnstone and his crew would have used was lots of fun. Speaking of Johnstone... *smirks* Sheesh, Holmes, jealous much?

 **Sky:** Ah yes, that was perf. And it's great to see Johnstone back; I love him. Ahhh, Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock... And poor Beth. It must be so hard, being in the same close quarters with, well, her love and her crush.

Oh, and did anyone else find Moran reading Beth's journal to be honestly terrifying? I mean, the thought of Moriarty doing it is scary, too, but I think there's something just as scary and probably more disturbing about Moran doing it.

Stay tuned for next chapter, and a certain long-awaited reunion... =)


	3. Wherever You Are

**==Chapter 3==**

 **Wherever You Are**

" _And he took her in his arms and kissed her under the sunlit sky, and he cared not that they stood high upon the walls in the sight of many."_  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

"They're 'ere!"

Heart pounding, Sally hefted the well-wrapped bundle that was her baby into her arms and ran out of the kitchen and through the halls to the back door, heedless of her lack of a coat as she burst outside. The older boys had said they'd be driving a cab home, and sure enough, it was rolling up the weed-choked gravel drive now. If everything had gone according to plan, then that cab bore her husband.

This wasn't a dream. This was really happening. She was going to be reunited with John at long last, and it didn't feel _real_. Any moment now, she was going to wake up alone in bed as she had done so many times before.

Watson was already climbing down before the cab had even come to a complete halt, but stopped dead himself when he saw his wife, transfixed. Sally was thin and pale, her hair a tangled mess, dark circles under her eyes... and to Watson, she had never looked more like an angel.

Sally stared—he was as thin and pale and haggard as she'd dreamt he'd be, but the look on his face was just... _more_... than she could have ever imagined. "John," she breathed, uncertain of whether to smile or break down crying. After nine interminably long months... he was _here_. He wasn't a dream.

"Sally...?" Watson couldn't manage more than a dazed whisper, hardly daring to breathe, unable to take his eyes off her.

Sally discovered that she had use of her legs after all and hurried towards him. "You're all right!" She discovered that she was also crying, and smiling past her tears.

Finally able to move again, Watson came forward to meet her, his own tears starting to well up. "Sally... oh, thank God!" How often he'd feared the worst...

"Doctor Watson," Sally said as she reached him, "there's someone I'd like you to meet…" Eyes shining, she shifted her hold so he could see the baby properly. "Katherine Elizabeth Watson."

 _A baby_... Watson's mouth fell open, shocked speechless. Merciful God, he'd never even _considered_...

Without taking her eyes off John, Sally murmured to Kathy something she'd been waiting a long time to say: "Sweetheart, this is your daddy."

Watson's breath was stolen once more as Katherine turned her head, gazing at him with wide blue eyes. Still at a loss for words, Watson reached out and touched the baby's soft cheek tentatively with the tip of his finger. His daughter... _he was a father_...

Sally watched him anxiously — he was all right, yes? Happy, she hoped? He still looked as stunned as she had ever seen him. "…John?"

A smile slowly spread across Watson's face, eyes alight with growing joy. "She's... oh, Sally!" Tears falling unchecked, he wrapped his arms around his wife and child... his family... He'd dreamed of a moment like this for so long, but after losing Mary he'd hardly dared to hope...

Sally clung to him, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding back the sobs that threatened to come—much as she wanted to let go, she didn't want to upset the baby. "John, I've missed you," she whispered. "Missed you so much..."

Watson lifted a hand and stroked her hair, murmuring, "I've missed you too, my love – I can't tell you how much! I'm _so_ sorry... I should have been here..." Poor darling, how she must have suffered; why hadn't he taken Moran's first offer when he had the chance?!

She leaned into his touch, indescribably grateful for it and hungry for more in a way that had nothing to do with lust. "Oh, John… We're all right, the baby and me. And you're back now." She smiled tentatively, wondering just how deep his guilt ran, and hoping and worrying that it would be enough without being overwhelming.

He smiled back, then looked down again at Katherine... Kathy in wonder, touching his finger to her tiny hand. "Hello, wee girl," he breathed. His daughter... the knowledge would surely never cease to fill him with awe.

The baby cooed, eyes widening and regarding him intently. Sally's breath hitched; if only he hadn't missed out on everything else up to here... the first kicks, the delivery, the first smile...

Heart breaking anew at that soft sound of distress, Watson tightened one arm around his wife, careful of the baby. "Sally, she's perfect!" There was so much to make up for, for both of his girls – he doubted even Frozen Time would be long enough.

Sally smiled faintly, mildly surprised that Kathy hadn't tried to reach out to her father's mind yet. Maybe she knew that she shouldn't, yet—and constantly trying to gauge what the baby understood and didn't understand was exhausting. "More than you know." She turned to the Irregulars and said, "Will? Time to get the boys indoors." It was getting to be their scheduled nighttime, and it was cold out.

Will nodded. "Roight."

"…and, Will?" Sally sighed. Poor Beth, she wished she could be with her right now, her friend must be feeling so lost... "You need to talk with Nikola."

The boy's eyes widened in horror. "What…"

Sally shook her head hurriedly and gave him a reassuring smile. "It's not what you think, just go." Will nodded again, herding the rest of the boys inside despite protests of "five more minutes!" Sally rolled her eyes.

Watson had been listening dumbfounded to the exchange, but waited until the boys had disappeared inside before asking, "Sally, what in the world...?" _Nikola_ was here? Which had to mean George was, too, he'd never have allowed his friend to... go alone...

Sally sighed; she didn't know how he was going to take all the news that she had to give him, but she wasn't looking forward to it. "John, let's get inside." She shivered, suddenly remembering that she wasn't wearing a coat. "It's cold out here."

Watson nodded, chiding himself. "Of course – I'm sorry, love."

"Shh, it's okay." As she led him inside, she continued, "Yes, Nikola Tesla and George Westinghouse are here. Nikola being psychic… comes in handy. He and George have been a tremendous help."

"I can imagine..." Watson said weakly. He shook his head, it was suddenly all too much, he felt just like he had when Holmes had tried to explain about the Doctor...

With her free hand, Sally gently rubbed his good shoulder. "Come on upstairs, love," she said softly, and led him in that direction.

He followed her automatically, up what appeared to be a back staircase. It was finally starting to dawn on him how comfortable Sally and the others seemed with living in such a grand old pile, whose house _was_ this?

"There's so much to catch you up on… I'm not even sure where to start."

Watson nodded slowly. "I get the distinct impression I ought to be sitting down, anyhow." The climb was already wearing him out, but he was determined to at least reach the top before pausing for breath.

She winced. "Probably." Particularly when he learned that his daughter was not actually human. "I'm sorry, love."

"You've nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart." He squeezed her hand, shivering as he remembered what he had to tell _her_ , none of it pleasant... "You've been so brave, all of you."

Her breath hitched again, with a whimper-like sound—she was so _tired_ of being brave... At last they reached the bedroom, and she sighed in relief at the warmth radiating from the fireplace.

Watson followed her in, closing the door behind them, and sank down onto the four poster bed. No fireside chair for him, there was only enough room in it for one! Sally came and sat down with Kathy on his right, resting her head on his undamaged shoulder; he wrapped his arms back around her gratefully, savouring the sweet scent of her hair as he kissed it. He couldn't think now how he'd survived without her for so long... "How did you find me?" he whispered, blinking back his returning tears, finally beginning to accept that this was truly happening, he wasn't about to wake up and find himself alone again.

"The boys did, love," she murmured. "Will spotted Wiggins on the street not long ago, so he followed him, and found out he was working for Torchwood." She hesitated, not wanting to tell him that nearly everyone he knew had forgotten him; it had been enough of a shock when Mrs. Hudson hadn't known her.

He nodded gravely, hearing clearly what she wasn't saying. "It's all right, sweetheart... I know how it is." Moriarty must have been delighted at being able to make use of Holmes's chief Irregular after all the trouble the young man had caused him; Watson could only hope that Wiggins hadn't been on duty during his rescue. "And Nikola and George? How did they get here?" It didn't seem to make any kind of sense, someone whom he and Holmes had only met once still remembering them!

She couldn't help herself: "By boat." She smiled ruefully up at him. "They both knew… things were wrong—Nikola more so. He's been… protecting me. From Moriarty sensing me… and Kathy."

Watson's eyes widened. "Of course... _that's_ why he never mentioned you!" Thank God... although he could almost have laughed at the sheer irony of it – that Moriarty had indirectly given Nikola the very gift which had lately been keeping him in the dark.

"Mm… And we've been… managing." She shrugged slightly, not wanting to explain to him the hardships they'd endured in the past few months. "Not terribly well, but… We escaped Moran, got out of London…" She looked around her. "Ended up here."

Well, at least she hadn't been running around the city in her condition all that time. "So... where are we? The owner won't be asking us to leave anytime soon, I gather?" And Watson had no idea why, but he had the increasingly strong feeling that he _ought_ to know this place.

"I'm not sure the surviving one cares," she said sadly. Nikola had relayed to her what Beth had told him about Sherlock. 'Rosewood Hall—do you know where that is?"

Watson frowned, the name did sound vaguely familiar... "Warwickshire, Will said..." His face turned pale. No, it _couldn't_ be... He looked frantically around the room, and found himself staring at the centre of the mantelpiece, at the carving of a very familiar family crest. "...oh God, _no_..." and Watson suddenly couldn't hold back the tears any more.

She watched him, wide-eyed—apparently, he _did_ know—and wrapped her free arm tightly around him. "John? John, what... what is it?"

Watson struggled to bring himself vaguely under control, tears still flowing freely as he forced the words out: "Sally, I... I don't think... I don't think Beth will be coming back..."

She relaxed and pulled back enough to cup his cheek, smiling tentatively. "I think she just might, eventually." No telling _when_ , but Beth would make it home—she _always_ made it home.

He shook his head miserably, voice hoarse as he continued, "The boys... told me what she meant to do... but she didn't know... she didn't see what I..." He took a deep, shuddering breath – if he couldn't confess it to her now, he never would. "When Moriarty captured us both... Holmes made a bargain..." Watson's face twisted in agony as the grief surged up again and overwhelmed him; "His... his surrender... in exchange for my life!" He would rather suffer a hundred broken bones over this burning ache inside, knowing that he might have mended their friendship with just a few kind words... and now he would never have another chance.

Sally tightened her hold, her heart breaking for him. She'd blamed herself before for taking her best friend straight to the very beings that had ripped them apart, but she could only imagine how much more her husband must blame himself. "Oh… John..." She rubbed his back gently. "Beth is very much alive, though, right now." She hoped curiosity or bewilderment would pull him out of his tears—she knew he needed to cry and probably a lot, but she couldn't bear to see him like this just yet. Not when they'd only just been reunited.

Watson almost choked on his next sobbing breath as her words penetrated, lifting his head slowly to look at her in warring grief and confusion, not even daring to hope that she might be right.

Sally smiled reassuringly, rubbing his back again to soothe him. "Nikola talked with Beth telepathically — she and Sherlock are on their way to France."

Watson stared. Holmes had _escaped_ from Torchwood... with Beth?! Not that he wasn't glad that the double rescue hadn't come at the cost of anyone's life, but still...! He shook his head, at a loss to voice the crushing doubt that was already flooding back: given what he had seen of Holmes lately, _why_ would the man ever choose to leave?

Sally's smile faded. "I'm not saying that everything's all right with Sherlock, but Beth talked him into leaving somehow and then talked _Moriarty_ into letting them go." A bit of pride and awe had entered her voice—she couldn't imagine how Beth managed _that_ , but she would have loved to see it. "But as a deal... they had a head-start to get out of England before Torchwood pursued them."

Watson had listened first in disbelief, then in growing awe himself... but paled further at her last words, he could well imagine just who Moriarty would be sending after them. "How long?" he asked grimly, then shook his head again. "No, never mind, where's Nikola?"

Sally took hold of his arm as he started to rise, keeping him gently but firmly anchored. "Downstairs somewhere." As she continued, she was surprised to hear her maternal attitude slip into her tone. "And you are _not_ going to see him until you've had a rest—I remember what the trip here from London is like."

Watson's expression was remorseful but determined. "I've got to get after them, Sally. The longer I wait..." He reached up and cupped her cheek tenderly, longingly – what he wouldn't give to be able to stay. "At least I'll know you two are safe here."

"John Hamish Watson!" Sally said sharply, alarmed, eyes blazing. "You'll do no such thing!" What on earth was he thinking?! She softened her voice, though, as she continued, "You're not thinking about this, love: Beth and Sherlock will be in hiding as well as on the run, and you haven't the faintest idea of where to find them or how to catch up with them. You'd be more likely to be picked back up by Moran!" He didn't know this world, he was clearly out of shape and probably injured... he'd never make it. It would be silly even to try—and what good would it do?

Watson's chin still jutted, but it was already starting to sink in that she was right, however much he hated admitting it: Holmes and Beth were on their own now, there truly was nothing he could do to help them. He bowed his head, face crumpling – he'd failed to protect those he cared about yet again...

She wrapped her arm around him again, trying to force back her own tears. "Besides," she murmured thickly, " _I_ need you..."

He leaned wordlessly into her embrace, putting his arms back around her and Kathy. Abandon his friends, or abandon his family... and the relief of having the dreadful choice taken out of his hands wasn't easing his guilt in the slightest.

"And Beth will bring Sherlock back eventually..." She couldn't keep the tremble out of her voice, relieved beyond words that she had been able to talk him down so easily—if only she had tried harder when it counted! "...and you can fix things then."

Watson looked back up at her, wide-eyed. "But... how is that even possible?" He shook his head again despairingly. "Without the Doctor, or the TARDIS... dear God, Heaven only knows what's been happening to them in the Rift!" It would be a miracle if all that chaos energy hadn't torn the ship apart by now!

She blanched at the mention of the Doctor, now that she knew what _did_ happen thanks to Nikola. "John... we tried to fix Time before. We thought it was that last case, not having happened the way it was supposed to... Beth and Will tried to wrap it up, and they did... but it didn't work. That's when we figured it out. It was never about the case, love: it was always about _you_. You and Sherlock..."

"...my God..." Watson was now white as a sheet – how _could_ he have been so blind?! Hadn't the Doctor tried to warn him – hadn't everyone? Sally, George, Edward, even Shakespeare...

Sally bit her lip, feeling like she was kicking her husband while he was down. "If the two of you could just... together... if you could... reconcile... we think it would heal Time."

"I was so angry..." Watson whispered, throat tight with shame as he recalled for the thousandth time all that he and Holmes had said to each other. "Oh, Sally... I called him a heartless coward..." He all but choked on the words, tears returning again; "and I was the one who abandoned _him_... just when he needed me most!"

She tightened her hold on him, wishing she could think of something to say that would comfort him... she'd spent more than a few sleepless 'nights' upset at both men for mucking things up, for her husband being away when she needed him the most, handling _her_ _first pregnancy_... After all, he might not have been captured if they'd stayed home—she didn't know that for certain, with Moriarty behind everything, but it was possible.

"He was prepared to... to sell his soul to the devil... to save my life... and when he tried to explain it to me... oh God! I didn't even listen, I just threw it back in his face!"

Tears slipped past Sally's defenses, heart aching for him. "Oh, John..." She turned her head and kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I should have tried harder to calm you down... talk some sense into you."

Watson's head came up at that, appalled – how could Sally, of all people, think that any of this was _her_ fault? "Oh, Sally," he murmured sadly, "I wish I could say I would have listened." He'd been so quick to call _Holmes_ selfish... all the while stewing in his own anger and resentment without the least thought for anyone else's feelings, not even his new wife's; he hadn't so much as asked Sally if she wanted to leave.

Sally cracked a tiny smile and arched an eyebrow. "Well... I could have just stayed put on the bed and not budged an inch." She would have liked to see him deal with _that_ conundrum.

He found himself smiling back, albeit regretfully, trying to ignore his sudden growing desire at that mental picture, without success. "That might just have worked." His smile faded as doubt resurfaced, wishing fervently that he could remember exactly what the Doctor had told him before going back for Sally – could fixing Time really be so simple?

Sally unwound her arm from around him and touched his cheek. "Please, love... you have to try," she said softly. "For him, for yourself... for all of us." She didn't say 'for our daughter'; she didn't need to.

Watson closed his eyes at the touch, laying his hand over hers and cradling it against his cheek, then nodded slowly, expression grave. He would give anything to have his friends back safely , for the chance to say all that he should have said at the very beginning; still, he wasn't naïve enough to think that coming face to face with Holmes would be any less painful than their last parting had been, they both had so much to forgive each other for... and try as he might, Watson simply could not forget the last time Moriarty had visited to report his pupil's 'progress', there had barely seemed a difference between the two by then!

She watched him sadly, lifting her hand to stroke his hair. "Beth was panicking when she talked with Nikola, and I can't imagine what Moriarty did to Sherlock, but I _can_ guess what Beth said to him that convinced him to run with her." But now wasn't the time to tell John about Mycroft. "And if he was willing to run... it can't be too late to make things right."

For his part, Watson couldn't even imagine what Beth might have said, but he was fast coming to the conclusion himself that Sally was right. If Holmes had been willing to leave Torchwood with Beth – whom Watson now felt certain was in love with the former detective – then there must still be a way to reach him. His eyes widened at a sudden, incredible thought... then shook his head to dislodge the ludicrous notion: _Holmes_ couldn't be in love!

She frowned at his expression, curious. "What is it?"

"No, it's nothing," Watson smiled, a little foolishly – his new-found freedom must be going to his head! He sobered again, looking at her earnestly. "I will try to make things right, Sally, I promise." Even if things could never be the same between him and Holmes again, he owed it to his friend to make the attempt.

She smiled slightly, leaning up and kissing him on the lips. Oh, it had been _ages_ since she had done that, and just that brief touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. "Good," she murmured, hoping that her deepened voice was just a figment of her imagination. John must be exhausted; she didn't want to ask anything of him for which he wasn't ready.

He returned the kiss warmly, sternly reminding himself that it was most unlikely Sally would be ready for much more, not so soon after giving birth. "You've been so brave, sweetheart," he murmured back, holding her and Kathy close. "I am so proud of you..."

She nestled into his hold and smiled wryly. "Well, I'm not sure I should get props just for surviving and having a baby..." She'd only done what millions of women had been doing for millennia, after all.

Watson tsked, smiling. "And being mother to all these boys, don't forget." If that didn't help Holmes relent towards Sally, at least, he didn't know what would. He looked tenderly down at Kathy and gently stroked her cheek with his finger, wanting very badly to hold her, but not quite daring to ask; if only he could have gotten here sooner, he might feel less like an interloper!

Kathy cooed softly as she watched her father, and Sally's eyes widened in realisation. "Oh, you haven't held her yet, have you?"

"...May I?" Watson breathed, a lump in his throat.

Sally nodded—she'd been waiting a long time to see this happen. Smiling, she shifted Kathy towards him.

Watson took Kathy in his arms with as much care as if she were made of china. He almost forgot to breathe as he cradled her, eyes glistening, heart still aching, but this time with a deep, solemn joy as his baby girl smiled up at him for the first time. Beaming back, he raised her a little higher and kissed her on the forehead.

Sally smiled mistily—how long had she dreamt of this moment? "Isn't she perfect?" she said softly, adoringly.

"Completely," Watson murmured; he just couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. "Aye, my bonny wee lass, ye'll be breaking hearts afore long..."

Kathy cooed back at him. Sally covered her mouth, tears springing to her eyes, heart full to bursting. And with a twinge of bitter-sweetness: her poor girl would outlive just about anyone she'd ever know. "More than you know..." At his questioning look, she smiled and touched the baby's cheek. "She's not normal at all, John," she breathed reverently. "She's a Time Lord."

Watson gaped at her, thunderstruck, then stared back down at Kathy in amazement as understanding finally dawned. " _Kit..._ " he whispered dazedly. The young Time Lady, only a century old, with her mother's blonde hair... and her father's hazel eyes. Had the Doctor known all along?

"What?" Sally frowned. What on earth...

He smiled, shaking his head. "I'll explain later, love." Best not to discuss the Manhattan Project within Kathy's hearing – there was no telling how much she might remember. His brow furrowed suddenly. "But... wait, you and I are both _human_ – how...?"

Sally arched an eyebrow, determined to get all the details later, then her expression softened and she squeezed his arm gently. "She was conceived in the TARDIS, honey," she murmured, "a time machine in the middle of the Time Vortex..."

Watson closed his eyes, a rueful chuckle beginning. "Oh, Lord..." He was going to kill the Doctor the next time he saw him! Assuming they all survived this mess, the slow path would clearly never be dull.

She gave him an empathetic look. "Mm-hmm. The next hundred or so years should be fun."

"I look forward to it," Watson smiled, and despite his misgivings, he simply couldn't resist another kiss.

Eyes closing in bliss, Sally returned the kiss warmly, realising belatedly that she was arching up into it. Oh, but she _wanted_ him—it had been so long.

 _Oh, thank God..._ Watson thrilled at her ardent response, then reluctantly broke the kiss after a few moments, murmuring, "Careful, love, we don't want to scandalise our daughter. Can the others look after her for a while?"

Sally blushed, smiling. "Yes. She's actually sleeping quite a lot right now."

Watson chuckled, carefully handed Kathy back and crossed to a nearby bellpull, tugging it. "That's an enviable talent these days." Having the lights on permanently in his cell had made him very thankful that he'd learnt to sleep under any conditions while on campaign.

Sally nodded ruefully; she missed getting a full night of sleep. "Wish she'd share a bit of it with me."

Watson frowned in concern, coming back to her side. "How much sleep _have_ you gotten lately, my dear?"

Sally responded with a Look. "John. This baby was born just a couple of weeks ago. How much sleep do you _think_ I've gotten?"

Watson nodded in sympathy – those shadows under her eyes spoke volumes. "Then from now on, sweetheart," he replied firmly, "whenever Kathy goes to bed, you should, too." He would not have her exhausting herself needlessly with so many other helpers here, himself included.

She sighed. "I'm hardly about to argue with that. At least... as long as you come to bed with us."

He smiled, pulse quickening once more. "An excellent notion, my love – although I hope you don't mind if Kathy sleeps elsewhere for the moment." From the way his wife was looking at him, she was clearly hoping for his undivided attention, and Watson had every intention of obliging.

She smiled, her own pulse beginning to race. "I... think I can manage..."

There was the sound of running footsteps in the hall, then a knock on the door, Kelly's voice asking, "Yew rang, Missus?"

Watson raised his voice slightly. "Come in, lad." When the boy entered, "Kelly, would you and the others kindly take charge of Katherine for a while? Mrs. Watson and I would like some time to ourselves."

Kelly grinned knowingly. "'Course, Doctor!"

Sally hoped she wasn't blushing. "Thanks, Kelly." She kissed Kathy's forehead and gave her to the Irregular. "Sleep well, sweetie."

Watson kissed Kathy as well, smiling mistily – he'd known his daughter less than an hour and she already had him smitten. "Sweet dreams, little one. Thank you, Kelly."

Kelly nodded, still grinning. "Our pleasure." To Kathy, "C'mon, li'l lady, time fer yer kip."

Sally smiled as she watched him leave, still chatting to the baby. The boys had been so much help with her, and they all adored her.

"She's a lucky girl, having so many elder brothers." Watson's smile faltered for a moment as he closed the door. He'd tried not to think too much about what could have happened to Harry in this new world, but he hoped his brother was doing better this time, wherever he was.

Sally smiled lovingly. "And having such an amazing man for her father."

Blushing, Watson took her hands in his, raising them to his lips. "And such an incredible, beautiful woman as her mother." He could hardly believe he hadn't seen the resemblance between mother and daughter long before – then again, perhaps he had...

Sally blushed herself, smiling radiantly and blinking back tears. If it was possible to fall in love again with someone you already adored, she did in that moment. "I love you, John."

Watson smiled warmly back at her, eyes dark with desire. "I love _you_ , Sally – so much. How I've missed you..." Heart hammering in his chest, he took her in his arms and kissed her passionately.

Eyes shining and pulse racing, Sally wound her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with equal fervour, humming contentedly. She broke off to murmur, "Even with everything that's gone wrong... I still think I'm incredibly lucky... Dr. Watson."

Watson gently framed her face with both hands, gazing at his beautiful wife in awe and wonder. "As am I, my love... as am I."

Their next kiss was deeper and hungrier still, both allowing the need within them free rein, now that they were finally alone together. Watson's weakened shoulder wouldn't allow him to sweep Sally off her feet, as he had done on their wedding night in the TARDIS, but she didn't seem to care, eagerly drawing him back across the room with her to the bed. At that moment, he'd have willingly followed her back into the very jaws of Hell itself... but that could wait just a little longer.

* * *

Beth wasn't sure why she woke up, but when she did, she pushed herself up to move over towards the front of the boat to check on their progress. The French coast was well within sight, and a dark mass of clouds hung low and heavy over it. The dull red light on the eastern horizon couldn't possibly be the sunrise, even though it was where the sunrise ought to be.

One of the nearest rowers spat over the side of the boat. "Red sky at night, city's alight," he said with grim humour.

Holmes had been partly roused from his own sleep by Beth's movement, but snapped into full, appalled consciousness at the oarsman's offhand remark. He sat himself up with difficulty, stiff from cold and fatigue, and his breath caught at the dreadful sight. The smuggler was right: a city _was_ burning. Dear God, he hoped it wasn't Paris...

Beth shuddered and returned to the sacks, hugging herself, head bowed. She'd been across the English Channel several times, with and without Johnstone, all the way back to France and even beyond, scouting out the Continent for the sake of contingencies. But she hadn't seen it _this_ bad before, and she could only imagine just how devastated Europe actually was now. (She refused to think about her own continent anymore; the last she had heard, the Americas truly had gone to hell in a handbasket, locked in perpetual night.)

Holmes looked over at her helplessly, at a total loss for words – he doubted there was anything comforting he _could_ say right now, anyhow. He would have liked nothing more than to take himself off, let her have a few moments alone to pull herself together... but this was a rowing galley, there was really nowhere for him to remove to. He could only remain where he was, staring out into the gloom, his gaze constantly, reluctantly being drawn back to the crimson glow in the distance.

* * *

 **Ria:** *hugs all of our characters* Hey, who says I gotta choose? ;) Our poor babies... but at least the Watson family is back together! John meeting Kathy for the first/second time just melts my heart, Sky and I were both in tears while roleplaying that one out!


	4. Persephone Stands

**==Chapter 4==**

 **Persephone Stands**

" _centuries ago," she says, every word  
a titan-sized whisper, "i was only a girl.  
look at me now."_

 _persephone stands in a courtroom  
and hades smiles_

 _for here, she is  
a queen_

— m.j., olympus v. hades

Holmes was one of the first out of the boat when they reached the French coast, eager to set foot on solid ground again; then he realised he'd left his pack behind, turned to retrieve it, and sighed to see that Beth hadn't even stirred. He tsked impatiently, leaning over the gunwale and saying pointedly, "We have arrived, lad – I'd advise you to stir yourself." This was hardly the time to have a change of heart over their travel plans!

His voice pulled her out of her dark thoughts and back into the land of the living. She shuddered, still wishing they could go home, then pushed herself up and got out with merely a tiny nod to Sherlock, working on deep breaths and pulling herself together as she approached Johnstone. She pulled a sapphire out of her stash and handed it to him. "Thank you," she said softly. From the start, he'd been nothing but good to her, and she appreciated that more than she could possibly explain to him.

Johnstone slipped the stone into his coat pocket, looking the girl over in concern – she was trying to put on a brave face, but her eyes gave her away. "Well, then," he said lightly, "time to say 'adieu', I suppose..." He gave her a hopeful grin, he was starting to like this rum young wench _very_ much. "Or maybe just 'au revoir'?"

Beth couldn't help smiling back; if he'd tried to kiss her, she wouldn't have minded... "Maybe just _au revoir_."

Johnstone winked at her, grin turning a shade regretful – it was clear where her heart really lay, such a tragic waste. The captain then turned to the flash cull and touched the brim of his tricorn. "Safe journey, your honour." His voice was faintly mocking, but his eyes glinted a warning: if the cove didn't have a care...

Holmes bowed coldly. "And you, sir." He could appreciate the risks Johnstone had taken on their behalf, but to flirt with Beth under such circumstances! The poor girl was under enough emotional strain already. He turned away without another word and followed their waiting guide up the cliff path.

Beth raised a hand in farewell as she joined Sherlock, sighing at herself. She wasn't sure that she'd ever see Tom Johnstone again, and she _wanted_ to. As much as she loved Sherlock, she didn't have a hope of her feelings ever being returned; and at least Johnstone seemed to like her as much as she liked him.

* * *

Once they had parted ways with their guide, Holmes remarked, in a more caustic tone than he'd intended, "My dear, you really must consider more carefully in future. That was a promising career you just turned down." To think he'd actually been worried for a moment – but it looked as if Beth at least had enough sense not to throw herself away on a libertine who would most likely end his career on the gallows.

Beth stared. "...what? What the zed are you talking about?" How did she 'just turn down a career'—had one been offered to her? Did she miss something? Admittedly, going on little sleep and lots of emotional turmoil, about the only subtlety she could pick up on at this point was Sherlock's lack of it. Nevertheless...

He sighed. "Never mind." A change of subject was clearly in order. "But what, may I ask, is our new course? We won't elude our pursuers for long by wandering aimlessly about the countryside." He'd only stayed ahead of Moran the last time by having a definite plan of action, and barely at that.

She frowned—did he seriously just brush her off? Geez, what a jerk. "...right, because I know so many people in France who could help us out. I don't know... change our appearances a few times, get past the first wave of battlegrounds, and it'll be a lot harder to track us, anyway. Half the population of Europe is now refugees—we'll blend right in."

Holmes passed a weary hand over his face, grimacing. "You really don't have any kind of long-term plan, do you?" Perfect...

She gave him a Look. "This is a surprise… why?" It shouldn't have been; he knew that she had meant to take him back home at the start. "I've kind of been making this up as I go since we walked right up to Moriarty. "

"I honestly don't know," Holmes sighed, this time at himself – he should have known, really. "Well, as you say, our best option is to blend in with the crowd. We can at least surmise where most of them will be heading." At her inquiring look, he continued, "Whatever conflicts the rest of Europe may be engaged in, I highly doubt Switzerland is going to give up her hard-won neutrality to any outsiders."

Her eyes widened. "Ohhh…" She'd known, but she hadn't even considered that as an option. They could rest for a while rather than run constantly, and that was a lovely thought.

His lips twitched. "Ironic, is it not? Of course, we do still have to get across the border." And the real challenge would be reaching it in one piece.

She shrugged. "Well, if you can _buy_ entrance… I can do it. "

He shook his head, smiling grimly. "If it were that easy, my dear, all border officials and guards would rapidly grow rich beyond belief." Being found on the take would most likely be deemed an act of treason. "If we can't get in by stealth, we'll need to obtain official papers."

She closed her eyes—with neither of them properly existing in the reality of this world, getting official papers would be nigh on impossible. "Definitely, let's try stealth first. "

* * *

Beth nearly sobbed in relief when at last the orange lights of a village appeared in the near distance. "Oh, thank _goodness_..." She had been clinging to the last scraps of her endurance, legs burning and every part of her body sore.

Holmes nodded, just as thankful for the chance of respite. "Let's hope they're home to visitors." Any remaining locals would be having a hard enough time fending for themselves without sheltering refugees.

"Right." Hmm, she should probably put on the skirt—sympathy was just more likely to be given to a young member of the 'weaker sex' than to a boy. "Hang on…" She opened a couple of buttons on her jacket and pulled out her skirt, which had been performing admirably up till now as extra insulation. She noticed the difference once it was out, shivering. Prolonged exposure to the cold hadn't built up her resistance to it at all; she constantly craved warmth.

He watched her curiously for a moment before realising what she was holding. "Oh, I see." Hastily, he turned his back to give her what privacy he could, suddenly glad that there was so little daylight in these parts.

She bit back a grin as he turned. "Sherlock, I am literally pulling this thing on over my pa—trousers." And she did just that, buttoning it closed and then the coat over it. "Totally Safe For Work, I promise." She swept her cap off and shoved it into her bag, then pulled the pins out of her hair and let it tumble loose around her shoulders, significantly longer than it had been when she'd first stepped into Victorian London.

"Yes, well..." Holmes turned back around, face still faintly crimson. He shuddered to think what the standard was in her century, but in his world, a gentleman did _not_ watch a lady dressing. "And now may I suggest you practice walking in that." He doubted she'd had many chances to wear such clothing in the last few months, or to practice the appropriate manners.

"And may _I_ suggest leaving being female to the female?" She gave him her most saccharine smile before turning on her heel and continuing to trudge towards the village. She'd like to see _him_ trying to be a female in this mixed-up world that refused to treat its women well. It had been hard, every time she'd come out of boy costume and into feminine clothes; as a girl, she'd most often been thought either brainless or an object of sexual gratification. Moran hadn't been the first to want or try what he had; he had simply gotten the farthest thanks to that damn sedative.

He sighed heavily as he followed, teeth gritted. "Your steps are too long, you're still walking like a boy. Shorten your strides by half."

He _dared_...?! She halted and whirled around. "Shut. Up! Look at me! I am exhausted, I am dirty, I have been trudging through snow for God knows how long, and I want a bed. The combination of which means that nobody is going to take the slightest notice of a peasant girl who looks like she's been walking forever and is damn well desperate for a place to sleep!"

Well, really! "Excuse _me_!" he shot back acidly. "I thought that perhaps your actually moving like a female might _help_ us to go unnoticed!" The way someone walked was one of the first details that another person would observe, he knew that from experience.

She straightened and lifted her chin, eyes blazing. "All right, _Detective_ , let me tell you something. I have been in hiding for about nine months now. In all that time, there was only one person who ever saw past my disguises, and that was Tom Johnstone. I have survived press gangs, pterosaurs, vampires, soldiers, criminals, aliens, and even Colonel Bloody Moran, and I. Am not. Going. To get. Us caught."

Holmes listened to the tirade in slightly stunned silence, although his lips tightened on hearing Johnstone's name again. Good God, it hadn't taken her long to start pining, had it? "Fine," he answered curtly, striding past her to take the lead, "keep up, then."

She narrowed her eyes at his back; if wishes counted for anything, he would have been dead several times over right now. Following, she deliberately took slightly shorter steps rather than trying to keep up with his longer stride; after all, _she_ was the one with the money.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Holmes was gratified to see that she had finally taken his advice, slowing his own pace to accommodate until they reached the outskirts of the settlement.

They soon found their way to the village inn, or what passed for one. Holmes pushed the door open slowly, letting his weariness show for the benefit of anyone watching, and approached the bar. The air in the common room was a thick haze of pipe smoke, the benches packed with regulars. A few other travellers were scattered about as well, keeping mostly to themselves, attention firmly fixed on their bags and dinner plates; what little Holmes could see of the available fare didn't look very appetizing.

Beth coughed at the smoke and pulled her jacket closer, shivering, positive that she looked as miserable as she ever had in her life.

The landlord ran a beady, speculative eye over them as they approached; Holmes noted grimly that the man didn't seem to be quite as underweight as his patrons, despite the increasing food shortage. " _Bienvenue, messieurs_."

" _Bonjour_ ," Sherlock answered, opting for a rough, gravelly voice. "We'll 'ave a meal an' whatever beds yer got."

" _Mille pardons, m'sieur,_ but we are all full up – unless you also wish the donkey as a bedfellow?" The landlord's expression conveyed eloquently that this had been happening a lot lately.

Beth stood behind Sherlock, giving her best impression of small and shrunken, and did her best not to look appalled at the idea of sleeping with the donkey. "Please, _monsieur_ , is there no other room you can give us?"

The landlord snorted lightly, answering in an audibly condescending tone, "Perhaps the bridal suite, then, _madame_?"

Holmes blinked – he'd forgotten that people were likely to assume he and Beth were a couple – but spoke up quickly, grinning. "Thank yer kindly, _m'sieur_ –" His foot nudged Beth's; "that'll do fine." Even in a dump like this, an actual room would be miles better than the stable. At least they'd had practice sleeping back to back already.

Beth swiftly passed him the pouch of gems, taking care to keep the movement concealed. She would have gladly given several of the stones for a good night's sleep in a real room with a real bed.

The landlord's eyes widened. "I think perhaps, _m'sieur_..."

Holmes cut him off, murmuring as he drew one of the smaller gems from the bag, "That our money's good as anyone else's." He opened his hand for a moment to reveal a tiny but flawless diamond, then closed it again just as quickly. " _Oui_?"

The man's fingers twitched involuntarily at the sight of the stone, swallowing hard, greed swiftly overtaking pride. " _Bien sur, m'sieur_ ," he muttered, took the last room key off its hook and handed it over, palming the diamond in the same movement with practiced ease. "Last room on the left."

" _Merci beaucoup.._. " Beth murmured, overjoyed at the thought of having a bed for the night.

"We'll eat down here, though –" Holmes flashed the landlord another grin; "save yer lordship climbing all those stairs." With Beth following, he turned and slouched his way over to a couple of spare seats, expression sour as if they'd had no luck getting a room.

"Why down here? " she whispered. She'd had one too many poor experiences in places like this, although at least men were less likely to harass a girl with a thirties-something man rather than with a teenage boy.

"How many have been refused a room before us?" he whispered back. "If we go straight up, someone might notice the last, most expensive room's just been taken by the new arrivals." No sense in marking themselves for potential thieves. "We eat down here, like any traveller would, and after another round or two, the others should have forgotten just when we came in."

She sighed and nodded. "Fair enough, but I still wish we could just go right up and collapse into bed."

Holmes was mercifully spared from having to respond by the barmaid's arrival with their dinner. It was little enough: some kind of watery soup which, for a town this close to the sea, smelt suspiciously of turnip rather than fish; a few pieces of coarse flatbread and two mugs of small beer completed the banquet.

" _Merci_ , _cherie_." Holmes took care to give the girl a token leer as she put down the tray, then turned his attention to the food. " _Bon appétit_ ," he said to Beth wryly, although he was far too hungry to turn his nose up at what there was – in fact, he had to make an effort to go slowly.

Beth glared at Sherlock for the look he gave the barmaid, but he didn't notice. She sighed and tucked into her food, not caring how unappetizing it appeared. Nine months ago, her appetite might have been spoiled by it, but now it was heavenly.

Finished all too soon, Holmes leaned back with a grunt of apparent satisfaction, although in reality the meal he'd just eaten didn't feel like half enough. He picked up his mug and drank most of the beer in one pull, wiping the froth off his upper lip with his coat sleeve and praying he'd at least eaten enough not to get tipsy from drinking so quickly. "Come, _mon canard_ , drink up – yer too far be'ind." He accompanied his leering grin with a wink, confident that Beth would get the message. "An' I wants yer where I can see yer..." Judging by the grins and knowing sniggers from the men seated around them, all in varying stages of inebriation, they were suitably far from suspecting his sole desire was to sleep.

Beth rolled her eyes and raised her mug, finishing it quickly and doing her best to ignore the niggling thought that she would have loved that innuendo to be real... Oh, zed, what was _wrong_ with her? She could blame it on the beer, yes. Granted, she could typically handle greater quantities of alcohol by now, but she was tired enough that she felt a slight, pleasant buzz. Add to that the sensation of food in her stomach, and she was actually feeling pretty good, all things considered.

Holmes raised his mug to their drinking companions, who raised theirs in return. "Yer good health, _messieurs_." Bracing himself, he tossed back his last mouthful of beer and stood; bent over Beth, wrapped his arm around her waist and all but hauled her to her feet.

Beth swayed lightly, the motion hardly pretended—she was gonna kill him. Or... no... wait... yes, that would do nicely... She tilted her head back to smile at him, leaned up, and kissed him on the lips, pulling back after a few seconds. After all that he'd put her through... that felt quite good.

Holmes froze as her lips touched his, mind and senses reeling, completely thunderstruck – and no less shocking was her self-satisfied expression as she broke off... How... how _dared_ she...?! As approving laughter and lewd comments broke out around them, he desperately pulled himself together and pasted his leering grin back on as best he could, praying that the smoke and firelight would conceal how pale he knew he must be right now. He never quite knew how they made it to the stairs, especially since he now had his own realistic drunken act, but somehow he found himself stumbling up the steps, arm still around Beth's waist for the sake of appearance, although he would now rather have been embracing Dr. Roylott's viper!

Mercifully, by the time they'd reached the second floor he had managed to regain enough control over himself to thank the barmaid, who had followed after them with the bags. Shouldering his own, he strode stiffly down the corridor to their room without so much as glancing at Beth.

Beth knew that there would be hell to pay for that stunt, but she didn't care just yet. Catching Sherlock so completely off-guard like that felt _amazing_. She shouldered her own bag and followed him, sighing contentedly as she entered the room. Dump or no, she tossed the bag down and threw herself on the bed. Ohhhh, _heaven_.

Escaping to the far side of the room, Holmes dumped his pack on top of a chest in the corner, then stood uncertainly for a moment before turning gratefully to the window; hands clasped behind him, he stared out unseeing over the snow-covered rooftops. Despite his best efforts, the scene downstairs kept replaying itself in his mind, over and over... and now that the initial shock was wearing off, it suddenly dawned on Holmes that he could still feel her kiss tingling on his lips. Biting them didn't help, and he couldn't rub them without her seeing him... _Damn_ the woman, how _could_ she have humiliated him like that, without the least word of warning?

Oooo, Beth had knocked him off-balance, hadn't she? She didn't think she regretted it, though, considering everything he had put _her_ through. She'd actually managed to take him down a notch... Deciding to cut the silence, she murmured, "At least there's plenty of room here."

Holmes barely registered what she said at first, still seething. The lingering memory of Beth's face after she'd kissed him was only convincing him further that her chief motive had been retribution for everything he'd... everything she'd been forced to endure since they left Torchwood. Finally, he turned his head slowly in her direction, looking at the bed as if seeing it for the first time. Oh God, he had forgotten they'd planned to share... Well, she could forget that – he would sooner share a bed with a scorpion! "Why, yes, I believe you're right," he said brightly, eyes and smile cold. "Do enjoy it." He opened the window, putting his knee up on the sill.

Frowning, she sat up. "Where are you going?" He wasn't going to punish _himself_ by not sharing the bed, was he? They didn't know when they'd get the chance to sleep in a bed again—she hoped it would be soon, but nothing was guaranteed!

He gave her a Look. "Well, how else am I to reach the stable without arousing suspicion, I ask you?" The smile became a mirthless grin. "Believe me, my dear, I've had worse bunkmates than a donkey in my time." Mostly of the six-legged variety, but he wasn't about to elaborate.

She groaned. "Sherlock, don't be silly. Look, I'm sorry, okay?" And suddenly that was actually very true: she didn't want him to leave, of course... and he was leaving to sleep somewhere awful to avoid being around _her_. Oh, zed... she'd messed up big-time this time, hadn't she? She hadn't meant for it to be such a big deal, but... gosh, she'd really been a jerk. Anything that he had done didn't give her the right to retaliate. "I'm sorry," she repeated softly. "Please stay."

The unmistakable sincerity in her voice made him pause, his anger starting to cool just a fraction... which then allowed the bitterly cold air flooding in at the window to become the deciding factor. Nevertheless... Still hovering before the opening as if undecided, he said stiffly, "Well, perhaps you would be good enough to promise me that this will not..." He stopped, considering – it _was_ possible, after all, that they might need to use a similar ruse another time... He sighed and went on, "That _should_ such an action be necessary in future, you will at least attempt to warn me before doing so."

Relieved, she gave him a small, rueful smile. "Promise."

Holmes echoed the smile, oddly relieved himself; but after all, if they couldn't achieve a truce when necessary, their chances of eluding their pursuers would be nonexistent. "Well, then... apology accepted." He closed the window and sat on the bed to remove his wet shoes and stockings, set them by the fire to dry, then sat down before the hearth to let his feet dry out as well; three years of being on hiatus had taught him the value of foot care while on the move.

He gave Beth a nod of approval as she followed his example with her own boots and sat down, too. He hadn't had a chance to purchase a pair like hers yet; he would probably have to do so in Paris, if the circumstances allowed. Keeping his ears open during their meal, Holmes had been glad to learn that the capital was still standing, but entering would be a great deal more troublesome than he'd anticipated.

Holmes's frown deepened as he continued to reflect on their journey up to now, specifically his own part in it... but it still took several minutes of staring into the flames, wrestling with himself, before he felt able to venture hesitantly, "I, er... I hope you will also accept my apology, Beth. I am aware that I have not been the most... agreeable travelling companion thus far. If I have offended you, then..." He cleared his throat awkwardly, hoping the firelight would once again disguise the colour of his cheeks; "well, then I pray you will pardon me."

She watched him in amazement, deciding that she had to give up all hope of ever understanding him. Moriarty certainly hadn't damaged Sherlock Holmes too much if he could still apologise... "I, ah, apology accepted..." Blushing herself, she drew her knees up to her chest. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "This whole thing..." She gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh. "Not what I'd had in mind."

Holmes was still gazing into the fire, eyes and thoughts distant. "No..." he said softly at last. What else could he say? That before her arrival in his chambers, his only fixed plans had been to cheat Moriarty out of an interesting future by poisoning himself? Yes, that would go down well! He shook his head at his sudden macabre frame of mind, smothering a stealthy yawn as he returned to the present. That bed did look very inviting... "Well... I suppose it'd be rather foolish not to actually make use of a bed that we've paid through the nose for." He looked back at Beth hesitantly – it was one thing to share a pile of sacks with her, with an entire rowing crew in the same boat, but after what had just happened... "Shall we, er, retire?"

Watching him, she had been feeling a strong, almost maternal urge just to hug him because he looked as though he needed it badly... Until he looked at her and she dropped her gaze, blushing again. "Yeah, probably should."

More relieved than he cared to admit, Holmes rose from the floor, opting not to offer Beth a hand up this time – this situation was awkward enough already! Heading for the side of the bed nearest the door, he discarded his hat and coat and slid under the moth-eaten covers, still mostly dressed. Although half expecting to be lying awake for ages, given the circumstances, his head hadn't even touched the pillow before he was fast asleep.

* * *

 **Ria:** I have to admit, I can't help feeling a little regretful over Beth and Johnstone, if only because he's being much more of a gentleman at the moment than a certain Victorian detective... not that Beth is behaving much better! *glares at both of them*

 **Sky:** Yeah, same! Johnstone is such a great character... it would have been nice to do a little more with him and Beth, but plot just never permitted. And, yeah, as much as I love Beth, I'm not going to excuse what she did, _except_ to say that she needs to be wrong sometimes, too.

Stay tuned! Action next chapter!


	5. The Family at the End of the World

**==Chapter 5==**

 **The Family at the End of the World**

 _I came to the conclusion a while ago that there is nothing romantic or supernatural about loving someone: Love is the privilege of being responsible for another._

– John Green, Zombicorns

The next morning, Beth woke slowly from one of the deepest sleeps she'd had in a long time. As she came to, she realised that something was lying over her waist... and then that it was an _arm_... She startled fully awake with a gasp.

Oh, wait. Sherlock. She was sharing a bed with Sherlock. Oh, thank goodness.

Speaking of whom, the Great Detective groaned softly, his arm tightening around her.

Beth went very still. Zed, he was going to flip out when he realised that he'd been _hugging_ her in his sleep. Golly, it felt nice, too... no, stop that. Ohhhh, this wasn't going to be fun. She was fully awake now, but there was no way she could move further without waking him up, too, and then dealing with the fallout.

Sherlock turned his head so that his cheek was now resting against her head, and hummed in his sleep. Something felt odd, somewhere around her hip, and with a jolt of shock she realised what the strange sensation was. Oh no, no, no... She definitely needed to wake him up now, and it was not going to be fun at all. Shifting onto her back, she wished she didn't have to wake him up, and not just because it would be a mess. She felt warm and safe in his hold, and she didn't want to lose that, even if the circumstances were an accident.

"...mm... s'too early..." Holmes mumbled, wondering drowsily why his pillow was trying to escape... then it dawned on him that the warm, soft object he was clutching was no pillow... His eyes snapped open, staring at Beth in bewildered dismay, then saw with horror that he still had his arm around her and let go hurriedly, face crimson as he recoiled.

Blushing also, Beth grimaced and averted her gaze. "Morning..."

A fresh wave of horror washed over him as he realised _what_ she was avoiding looking at, now desperately wishing the floor would open up and swallow the bed whole, and both of them with it. "Beth..." he stammered, "I-I'm _so_ sorry, I... I had no idea..." Thrice-cursed fool, _why_ hadn't he thought of this?! What must she think of him?

She looked at him again, eyes full of sympathy. It was just a thing that had happened, a guy thing, and it wasn't anybody's fault. "Sherlock, it's okay. You're okay, all right? "

Holmes shook his head wretchedly as he stared down at the mattress, unable to meet her gaze. "Forgive me, Beth, I should have at least considered..." His whole face was on fire. "I can't even promise you it won't happen again..." Oh dear God, he'd actually said that out loud?! "...oh God..." He rolled away from her and sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed, insides writhing in humiliation.

He looked the very picture of misery. She pushed herself up and moved over towards him, touching his shoulder. He flinched and said, "Beth, please..." But she ignored that, wrapping her arms around him from behind, hugging him.

Silenced momentarily, he slowly began to relax backwards into her hold – it _was_ somewhat comforting, in an odd sort of way – until it once more became clear to him just how much his treacherous body was enjoying being that close to hers... Trying to ignore the sensation in favour of his corresponding sense of alarm, he carefully but firmly disentangled himself, rose hastily from the bed and gathered up his shoes and stockings, now all but dry.

"Well... no doubt I should take the hint and, er, answer Nature's call..." His blush deepened further, well aware that he was failing abysmally at sounding nonchalant, and made for the door, addressing her over his shoulder to avoid any further eye contact: "I'll meet you downstairs." He unlocked the door and fled gratefully from the room, although he doubted the icy cold of the inn's outhouse would make much difference to his face.

* * *

Waking gradually from the soundest sleep he'd known in months, Watson could have wept in relief to find Sally still in his arms. His wife was fast asleep, breathing deep and even, and for several long minutes, Watson was content to simply lie there, drinking in the sight of her as he held her, their recent exertions _very_ fresh in his memory. They had talked for a long while afterwards as well, despite their exhaustion; Sally describing how Beth and Will had retrieved the submarine plans, Watson managing to tell her a little about his time at Torchwood, although not in any great detail – _those_ memories were also still fresh, painfully so. Sally had kissed his tears away, crying herself, then helped him to forget all about everything but her for a second time...

Watson sighed as his stomach suddenly informed him that it was feeling woefully neglected – he would have to get up, it seemed. Sliding reluctantly out of bed, careful not to wake Sally before she was ready, he dressed in his old clothes and ventured out in search of the kitchen.

He soon found the main staircase and headed down, taking in more of his grand surroundings this time: the house that had been...no, _should have been_ Holmes's childhood home, and was now his family's. The sound of boys' voices in the distance made him smile, if a little sadly; he suspected that this old manor was seeing more life now than it ever had before. Finally locating the kitchen, his face lit up to see that George was already there with a handful of the older Irregulars, although Nikola was absent. "Hello, everyone."

"Watson!" Beaming, George crossed the room with a few long strides, crushing Watson in a bear hug.

"George!" Watson managed to gasp out, laughing weakly as he felt his ribs creak. "Hello!"

The inventor loosened his hold, grinning unabashedly. "Good to have you back."

"Likewise, George," Watson nodded, quickly sobering. "Thank you so much. For being here for everyone."

"Don't mention it." George's smile was grave but kind. "After everything you did for Nikola and me, it was the least we could do." Answering before Watson could even ask: "He's in his workshop in the stables – Will's giving him a hand."

Watson nodded again slowly. "I suppose that 'hello' can wait... I feel a pressing need for breakfast." Whatever was in that pot on the range smelled _wonderful_.

Charlie looked back up from polishing off his own food, rolling his eyes. "'Ope yer loike porridge, Doctor!"

George ushered Watson over to sit at the table, dishing up a bowl of thin porridge from the pot and setting it down with an apologetic look. "We've got very little fresh produce left, I'm afraid. Food doesn't spoil in Frozen Time, but it doesn't get replenished, either. Cows don't give milk, chickens don't lay eggs..."

Charlie nodded sagely. "Lucky me Nan's Jewish, or we wouldn' 'ave no bread, even." The lad hesitated a moment, then offered Watson the last bite of his flatbread.

Touched, Watson shook his head at Charlie and dug in. "Believe me, I can live quite easily on very little these days." He hated to think how much weight he must have lost by now, but George's expression as he looked him over was eloquent enough.

"From what intelligence we've been able to gather, Torchwood's trying to develop Time enclosures so that food can be grown again." George smiled wryly. "I'll say this for Moriarty: he's at least grasped the idea that if you want to rule the world, you also have to run it!"

Watson swallowed a mouthful of porridge, his own smile grim. James Moriarty as the ultimate bureaucrat – the irony... "It's a wonder the lot of you have managed as well as you have."

"It hasn't been easy – Beth and the older boys have been doing most of the legwork, while we've been holding the fort here." George's eyes held a wicked gleam. "Although if Torchwood ever do come calling, they'll get a _lot_ more than they bargained for..."

Watson raised a curious eyebrow. "Nikola's been busy, I gather?"

"He's barely stopped to rest since we got here." George bestowed a proud, fatherly smile on the boys around the table. "It's a good thing we've had all these extra hands."

"They're good lads, all of them," Watson agreed, echoing the smile to conceal his fresh twinges of guilt; these blessed boys should never have been dragged into this mess in the first place.

"Careful, Doc, don' wan' 'em gettin' big-'eaded!" Will had appeared in the scullery door, grinning faintly as he scraped the mud off his boots. "Any grub left?"

"I think so, yes," Watson nodded. It was beginning to dawn on him how dreadfully thin everyone here really looked, with perhaps the sole exception of Kathy. He turned back to George. "Has anyone been anywhere _near_ a doctor all this time?"

George shook his head emphatically. "The boys stole a medical book from the library before we left London – we just couldn't trust any other doctors. Torchwood's got spies everywhere."

"That's what I was afraid of. I should spend some time checking everyone over, then." Watson hid a smile at the chorus of groans from every boy in the kitchen, leaning back in his chair. "That's right: the holiday is over. You're all _long_ overdue for a visit with me, and don't think you can get out of it."

George rose, expression equally stern, but his eyes twinkling. "The ground floor study's not too dusty, if you want to use that as a consulting room."

Will's eyes narrowed. "And where are _yew_ off to, guv'?"

George grinned ruefully. "To drag Nikola to the head of the queue!"

* * *

Nikola Tesla was just as thin and energetic as Watson remembered him. Upon finishing his examination, Watson clapped his hands to his thighs and declared, "Well, you're about as healthy, I think, as anyone can be under these circumstances. You've noticed nothing unusual yourself regarding your health?"

Nikola smiled ruefully as he rebuttoned his jacket. "Well, the odd headache – but that's only to be expected, I suppose." As was his periodic insomnia, although he didn't see any point in divulging that. It was a small price to pay, all things considered, and he could hardly risk drugging himself.

Watson hummed thoughtfully. "With your being psychic, I suppose so." He smiled faintly. "I understand that a great thanks are in order," he said softly, "for protecting my family from Moriarty." Which was, of course, an understatement—he owed the inventor a tremendous debt, but he doubted that Nikola would see it quite the same way.

Nikola shook his head gently, smile fading; Watson had no idea... and the inventor hadn't been looking forward to telling him. "I only wish we... _I_ had done more, gotten here sooner."

Watson shook his head slowly. "I can't think how there was anything more you could have done..."

Nikola bit his lip, staring down at the floor. "I saw this coming, Watson, back when we first met... the endless winter... but I allowed myself to become distracted... The work helped to filter out the worst of the noise in my head..." and it had been only too easy to lock that chilling vision away, deep below his subconscious where it wouldn't disturb his dreams, pretend he'd never seen it... Resisting the temptation to do the same for Beth's memories when she'd begged him to had been agonising. "I wanted to forget, as much as the Doctor did."

Watson's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he gave up, speechless. First Sally and now Nikola thought they shared in the blame for all of this? Watson hoped Beth didn't feel the same way—no one but himself and Holmes deserved that kind of burden.

"After everything the Doctor told me about using my gift responsibly..." Nikola's voice was bitter. "Instead, I – a scientist! – used it to blind myself, and did nothing."

Watson bowed his head, clasping his hands together. "You were not the only one who did nothing, Nikola…" Why in heaven's name were others taking upon themselves the guilt that was his? "...you are not to blame."

Nikola sighed, Watson's remorse was all but echoing off the study walls. "Not entirely, I know. And Watson... neither are you." It would do none of them any good to take more or less of the blame than was their due.

Watson wearily pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and shook his head. "Not entirely…" All the guilt that had weighed on him all these months, that had been soothed for a brief time by Sally's love, was flooding him once more, and it was difficult just to lift his head, let alone look Nikola in the eye. "But still very much responsible."

Nikola smiled in sympathy; it was clear that Holmes hadn't been the only one deeply scarred by Moriarty, and although Watson's stubbornness had probably served him well at Torchwood, those same defences would have to come down again before he could properly heal. "Well, as I told the Doctor... we do still have a chance to put things right."

Watson's eyes widened, a surge of hope in his chest. "You've spoken with the Doctor?!"

"Sally forgot to mention?" Nikola nodded, he understood. "Don't ask me why, but when Time began to freeze, my earlier link with the TARDIS suddenly strengthened." Laughing shakily, "I was practically hauled out of my body into the ether! And fortunately, the connection was strong enough that I could make contact for a brief time. The Doctor is still alive, Watson..." The telepath sobered, frowning; "although I'm far more concerned about his mental state at this point. Nine months without human companions..."

Watson felt the blood drain from his face. "Dear God... even with the TARDIS there for him... he must be going mad! You haven't been able to make contact since?"

Nikola shook his head sadly. "Our connection was severed the only time we spoke... by Moriarty. And since then, every time I've tried to make contact, the TARDIS has..." _Nebesa_ , how to describe the indescribable? "Have you ever read Jules Verne's _Twenty Thousand Leagues_? When the hull of the 'Nautilus' was electrified to repel her attackers... that's what it feels like." He shuddered to think what Moriarty must have done to make the ship so wary of _any_ approach, even from a friend.

Watson's eyes went completely round as he shuddered. He could only imagine the damage Moriarty had done to a soul as _sensitive_ as the Doctor's. "Dear Lord," he said hoarsely, closing his eyes. "Moriarty has so much to answer for..."

"Yes..." Nikola had had ample time to consider how _he'd_ most like to obtain satisfaction from that _zao_ _kopile_... And now Beth was out there with Holmes, Torchwood in pursuit... and he couldn't even shield her any more, it was hard enough just to contact her.

Watson opened his eyes. "Nikola? What's wrong?"

Nikola shook his head again, hands clasped together as he looked back down at the floor. Having the same fears as everyone else, and having to bury them for the sake of group morale... although George knew, bless him, Nikola never had been able to deceive his friend... still, some things were simply too private to share. "I just wish... I wish I could do more to help her..." He trailed off again, blushing – he'd meant to say 'help _them'_ , but the truth had slipped out before he realised.

Watson frowned, confused. "Help... Beth?"

Nikola nodded miserably. "I can talk to her... but that's all... she won't even tell me where they are." He probably could find out if he tried hard enough, but to cross that line, even in a good cause... Nikola knew well that Beth would never forgive such a thing. "If anything happens to her and Holmes, I might be the first to know, but..." He couldn't even finish the thought aloud, but he didn't have to, it whispered in the silence: _What good was that if he couldn't intervene?_

Watson's eyes widened again in sympathy—he could imagine what that must feel like. To know, but be unable to do anything about it? He'd spent months in that state of helplessness. "I'm sorry..."

The telepath looked up, smiling sadly but gratefully. "Well..." He clapped his hands to his knees and stood. "I should probably let you carry on with your rounds."

Watson nodded slowly, thinking. "Nikola... would you keep me posted on your conversations with Beth? If she agrees as well, that is," he hastened to add. He understood that mental conversations must be just as private as spoken conversations, and after everything Beth had been through on his and Holmes's behalf, she had more than enough right to her privacy. Even if the suspense of not knowing tortured Watson—it was probably no less than he deserved...

"Of course." Nikola smiled suddenly as he remembered his second reason for being here. "Oh, drop by the stables when you're finished, there's something I think you'll want to see." It was high time Watson was caught up on certain recent events... and Nikola could do much better than a photo album.

Watson frowned again, wondering what on earth it could be. "Oh?"

Nikola nodded, smile turning enigmatic. "Shall I tell Will you're ready for him?"

Watson sighed and threw up his hands—he always had thought that Nikola strongly resembled Holmes at his most mischievous and mercurial. "If you like."

Nikola chuckled as he exited, leaving Watson to the rest of his thankless duty.

* * *

His work completed for the time being, Watson sat facing Nikola in the stable, hands joined, eyes closed, both holding their breath – Nikola had never attempted this before, combining the memories of three into one... _Watson, do you see...?_

 _I... yes, I see... Oh, Nikola...!_ Watson's hands tightened on the telepath's, tears spilling over as he watched his daughter being born through the eyes of his friends. _Sally_... His wife's cries of pain tore his heart to shreds, but he would _not_ look away, he owed her this... still, he was deeply thankful that he wasn't experiencing the birth from Sally's perspective.

Nikola shook his head firmly as he caught the stray thought. _You couldn't handle her side of things, Watson,_ _ **believe**_ _me._ It was difficult enough editing out what pain she had been broadcasting at him.

Watson winced in sympathy, then his face became radiant as the vision centered on Beth's memories, the first of any of them to hold Kathy... putting her in Sally's arms, his wife's eyes shining with tears as she cradled their little girl... _Oh, Nikola, isn't she beautiful?_

 _Yes, she is..._ Nikola's murmur was the last thing Watson heard as the vision faded away, darkness gently enfolding him... and when he awoke, he found himself back in bed, Sally's arms around him.

"Sally..." Watson blushed deeply as he recalled some of the more colourful language his wife had used during her labour; he couldn't help wondering now how much of it she'd really meant... "Oh Sally, you... I'm _so_ sorry!"

Sally silenced his stammering with a tender kiss, her misty-eyed smile dispelling his fears – then Watson's breath caught as she began running her fingers through his hair, scalp tingling... God, he'd _missed_ her doing that... "Well, then," she murmured impishly, "you'd better start making it up to me..."

* * *

 _(Scene rating: V)_

Beth and Sherlock hastily gulped down more turnip soup and bread for breakfast, without conversation. The waking up incident still bothered Sherlock, obviously, and Beth felt as though breaking the silence would be too awkward. Until, that is, they were a fair distance out of town, and her skirt was getting in her way. "Okay, hold a mo'," she said, stopping. "Let me get back out of this skirt."

Holmes nodded, relieved that she seemed willing to put the events of the last few hours behind them. "Not out in the open, though." There was a stand of trees close to the road that could provide sufficient shelter, and he headed towards it.

Following, she pulled her hairpins out of her belt, and began to put her hair back up to hide under her cap.

Holmes stubbornly turned his back again while she was taking her skirt off; after everything that had happened earlier, he was more determined than ever to keep _some_ standards in place! As for sleeping arrangements... from now on, if there was only one bed available, either Beth would have it, or they would take turns sleeping on the floor.

Beth shoved her skirt back into her jacket, grateful for the extra insulation. She looked up at Sherlock and shook her head—seriously, she was fully-clothed the entire time she was making the switch from boy to girl or vice versa, and he'd seen her as both! What was the big deal? "Done."

Holmes started to turn back, then tensed as his eye was caught by a sudden flicker of movement across the meadow. "Get down!" he hissed, ducking for cover behind the closest tree.

Beth dropped immediately to the snow and drew her revolver, heart hammering. Please, not soldiers, not now...

Head hidden by the undergrowth, Holmes scanned the terrain ahead minutely. Nothing revealed itself for the next minute or two, but just as he began to wonder if he was being overly paranoid, a hedgerow rustled... then a brown hare emerged cautiously from hiding and ventured out across the snow, ears and nose twitching. Holmes let out a relieved breath, then pursed his lips thoughtfully – there was no telling when their next meal would be. "Can you make the shot from here?" he breathed.

Beth shook her head, blushing. "Not that good," she whispered. She was a _dead_ shot, actually... with people. Even with some trick shooting. But small game—that was a form of shooting she hadn't yet mastered.

The hare must have caught the whisper or the movement, because the next instant it had fled back into the hedge – the same instant as a gunshot rang out and a plume of powder snow spurted upwards, right where the animal had been standing. There was a very French-sounding curse from a thicket on the far side of the meadow, and a head in a black shako poked out of the trees, its owner sounding most displeased. "Jacques, you _fool_ , I told you...!"

"I didn't make a sound!" came an indignant second voice from out of sight.

"Well, something scared it off!"

Beth looked, wide-eyed, at Sherlock, not daring to move. No, no, no...

"It probably got wind of your breath!" the one called 'Jacques' replied with a scornful snort, pushing his way out of the thicket, followed by his colleague. As well as the caps, both men were dressed in blue wool coats, white waistcoats and breeches: Napoleon's infantry.

Holmes hardly dared to breathe himself, willing the pair to turn around and leave – there was no reason to linger, after all, their game was long gone – so he was taken completely by surprise when, with the worst possible timing, a snow-laden branch above him released its load right onto his head; a half-stifled yelp escaped him as a fair bit of icy powder found its way down his neck.

Beth's breath caught, frozen in horror.

Both soldiers had dived for cover, rifles trained in their direction. "Who goes there?" one called out. "Show yourself!"

Even while inwardly cursing, Holmes's mind raced, weighing up the options. A firefight would be most unwise, one pistol against a pair of rifles, which he would prefer not to reveal they had unless absolutely necessary. Besides, the sound of weapons discharging would likely bring in reinforcements. If they broke cover and ran, their chances would be equally slim; the first soldier would have bagged that hare easily if Beth hadn't startled it, and both soldiers now had a choice of two much larger targets... except... they didn't _know_ that, did they? _Show your_ _ **self**_...

Beth's mind was racing, but she was coming up against the same brick walls he was: no chance in shooting, no chance in running. She looked at him pleadingly, hoping he could come up with a better way out of this.

Holmes closed his eyes a moment, steeling himself, before giving Beth a look of heartfelt apology – they did seem to be making a habit lately of horrifying each other. "Wait here till we've gone," he whispered, praying that the soldiers had orders to take any potential spies in for questioning, rather than simply execute them on the spot.

She just stopped herself from crying "No!", mouthing it instead. He couldn't; they could kill him and that couldn't happen, not now, not _now_...

He gave her a faint but encouraging grin, murmuring, "Don't worry, my dear, we'll be easy to track." Not that he liked the idea of Beth shooting someone in the back, but they couldn't afford to waste any opportunities. He stood slowly, raising his hands above his head. "Please, don't shoot!"

It took every ounce of Beth's good sense to keep still, heart in her throat. If she followed them, she'd have to injure or kill the soldiers before they could return to their camp, and those weren't odds that she liked, particularly when she didn't know how far or how _close_ said camp was. Not to mention that she could pick off one, but the other one would still be alive and could hurt or kill Sherlock before she'd have the chance to stop him.

The soldiers remained where they were as Holmes emerged, no doubt in case of ambush. "Walk straight over here, keep those hands up!" Holmes obeyed, doing his best to appear as scared as possible, which wasn't difficult. "On your knees!" barked the first soldier as he got near.

Cowering, Holmes knelt in the snow, his chattering teeth only partially an act– if they didn't shoot him, he might well freeze to death, anyhow. "P-please, _messieurs_ , d-don't kill me, I beg you!"

"You alone?"

" _Mais oui_ , _monsieur_! My wife, she is home with the little one..." Holmes took care to point in a completely different direction to Beth's hiding place.

"What are you doing out here, then? Who are you?"

"Jean Bonnard, _monsieur_ , a trapper. I came merely to check the snares – _hélas_ , the game, it is now so scarce..."

"Trapper, eh?" the first soldier interrupted, he and his colleague finally breaking cover and coming forward, rifles still trained on their prisoner. "Then where's your game bag? "

Jacques's eyes narrowed as Holmes's widened, realising his mistake too late. "Left it over there, _hein_?" the soldier grinned, and headed straight for the trees.

Heart in her mouth, Beth tried to slink further back for cover—but this was the wrong time of the year for hiding in the underbrush; she'd be spotted in a minute...

Damn! Unable to stop Jacques, Holmes did what he could to distract the first soldier. " _Non_ , _monsieur_ , _please_ , my family! They are starving, you cannot...!" He was silenced next moment by a swift jab to the gut with a rifle stock. Struggling to draw breath, Holmes had enough presence of mind to take advantage of being doubled over and scooped up a handful of snow unseen, straining his ears to hear what was going on behind him.

Aw, heck with it. Beth leapt to her feet, taking a shot at Jacques to buy her time before turning and running.

Even though he'd been expecting it, Holmes's blood froze at the sound of the shot. His captor looked up, cursing... just as a snowball hit him square in the face, followed by Holmes's fist to his solar plexus. A rabbit punch to the back of the neck as he doubled over, and the soldier was sprawling in the snow, out cold.

Beth ran with her body hunched over as far as she could to make a lower target, running in a broad arch to try to stay out of firing range while also headed back towards the soldiers. Then she heard one of the rifles go off, and she stumbled, startled at the sound, even though she knew it would happen. The next instant, something small, hot, and fast blazed across the surface of her shoulder, tearing fabric and flesh alike. With a breathless cry of pain, she stumbled again, though she tried to keep moving, tried to ignore the fire in her shoulder...

Holmes went white to the lips. He never remembered the next few seconds with any clarity, but when the red mist cleared from his vision, he found he was now holding a smoking rifle... and Jacques was slumped forward over his own weapon, a dark red stain slowly spreading across his back.

Beth had managed to move forward until the second shot went off; she dropped to the ground and jarred her shoulder when she did. Crying out, she doubled over in pain, unable to continue—it hurt _so bloody much_...

"Beth!" Still holding the rifle, Holmes raced over, dropping to his knees beside her. _Please be all right,_ _ **please**_ _..._

Grimacing, Beth looked up, grateful beyond words to see him unhurt. She was gripping her shoulder tightly, not sure that she could actually stop the bleeding that way, but it did help to deal with the pain. "It's not that bad," she gritted out. The bullet had really only grazed her, not actually embedded itself or torn into her shoulder. It just hurt like hell.

Holmes swallowed hard against his sudden nausea, voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts. "Try to stay still, I'm going to get our..." Just then, the sound of a cocking rifle interrupted.

Holmes looked up in dread, fully expecting to see a battered and vengeful infantryman... but was greeted instead by the equally alarming sight of half a dozen armed men, newly emerged from the thicket, although none of them were in uniform... and one was just slitting the throat of the still-unconscious soldier.

Beth's head snapped up, and then she felt sick to her stomach, covering her mouth in horror at the killing of the soldier. She could shoot a man dead—and had—but there were still things that could make her throw up.

Holmes put a steadying hand on her forearm, doing his best to smile at the group, or at the very least look grateful. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend..._ He could only hope that these people held the same view! "A most timely arrival, _mes amis, merci beaucoup._ " Which it had been, ultimately – Holmes wouldn't have fancied choosing between shooting the soldier in cold blood or leaving him alive and bound to freeze.

Beth glanced at Sherlock, then back at the newcomers, swallowing hard. She'd heard many tales about roving bands of armed civilians at home and abroad, and although she agreed with the ideals of quite a few of them, she'd hoped to never run into one of them. Most were notoriously ruthless.

Doing his best to project an air of assurance, Holmes continued, "We left our gear among those trees –" nodding at their original hiding place; "if one of you would be so kind?"

The man with the knife, who appeared to be the leader, nodded at one of the others, who went to fetch the packs.

"Sherlock," Beth whispered, trembling, hoping that she at least didn't look as skittish as she felt.

Holmes took her free hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Just a flesh wound, lad, you'll be right in no time." If the leader had wanted either of them dead, their corpses would already be cooling in the snow with the other two.

" _Oui_ , _garçon_ , a mere scratch," the leader said in a bracing voice, "and bravely got, to be sure. But perhaps any further business would best be conducted elsewhere?" The man's tone remained pleasant, but his expression brooked no argument.

Beth nodded quickly and looked back at Sherlock, prepared to follow his lead.

Holmes echoed the nod gratefully. " _Un moment_ , _s'il vous_ _plaît._ " He took one of the retrieved bags and used the few medical supplies they had to apply a temporary dressing to Beth's shoulder wound; at least infection was much less of a concern these days. "Can you walk?"

Beth hissed in pain as he worked but nodded once he'd finished. "Thank goodness it was my shoulder, not my leg," she murmured.

 _...Watson hanging limply in the hands of Moriarty's agents_... Holmes pinched his lips together for a moment, sternly forcing his thoughts back to the present; Watson was well out of all that now, no sense dwelling on what could not have been prevented in the first place. He helped Beth to her feet carefully as another two men shouldered their packs, lending her his arm to keep her steady.

" _Bon_ ," the leader nodded. " _Allons-y_ , _mes enfants_." With the soldiers' bodies now hastily hidden in the snow, the company returned to the woods, moving swiftly through the trees in silence, save for their crunching footsteps.

Beth held Sherlock's arm tightly, grateful for the physical support as well as the comfort the closeness gave her. His personality—or his many personalities?—confused her, but more and more, she thought she was seeing the Sherlock Holmes who had been her fencing instructor, the Sherlock Holmes she'd always believed him to be. She was grateful beyond words for that: maybe it wouldn't be so long, after all, until he and John could reconcile... Or, at least, she could hope and dream.

* * *

 **Sky:** Oh gosh, poor Beth! And poor Sherlock, and poor Watson, and poor Nikola. _Poor everyone, sheesh_. So, yeah, the drama between our leads continues, and... well, you know it's gonna get worse before it gets better. :P We're only on chapter 5!


	6. Tell Her 'Bonjour'

**==Chapter 6==**

 **Tell Her 'Bonjour'**

 _The universe is seeming really huge right now… I need something to hold on to._

– E. Lockhart, We Were Liars

After what felt like half an hour of trudging ever deeper into the forest, the rebel band halted. Squinting ahead, Holmes could see the walls of what looked like a ruined fortress showing through the trees. A scout went forward and came back to report that there were still-warm remains of a handful of campfires in the main courtyard, the snow flattened by a host of booted feet; the dead soldiers had probably been with whichever regiment had recently moved on.

The leader called a brief rest stop and ordered one of the old campfires relit. The chances were good that the regiment would not return any time soon, and even if they did, no one was likely to notice a few extra footprints or charred logs. Sweet black tea was brewed in a can, then cooled in the snow and passed around the circle. Holmes managed to swallow his repugnance when it was his turn, along with a large, scalding mouthful, then handed the can to Beth.

Beth accepted it gratefully—at least they didn't have to worry about contagion—and gingerly took two smaller sips. She winced and blinked back tears as she handed it on, but already her body felt warmer, which was good: her shoulder wound had automatically lowered her body temperature, and the bullet had torn up her coat besides. She looked at the leader, a big, grim-looking man, and wished she could get up the courage to ask questions—she wanted badly to—but she didn't quite dare.

" _C'est le bon thé, monsieur_ ," Holmes nodded, trying to ignore his burnt tongue. " _Merci_."

" _Eh_ , _bien_..." The leader leaned back on his log, looking at the newcomers thoughtfully. "Anyone we know?" At Holmes's inquiring eyebrow, "Whoever's after the pair of you."

Beth tilted her head, frowning. "I don't understand, _monsieur_."

The leader smiled in sympathy. "You have the hunted look all over you, _mon fils_."

Beth sighed—why was that everybody seemed to see right through her no matter how hard she tried to mask herself? " _Oui_ , well," she said quietly, "I think we should prefer to keep that our business, _monsieur_ , although I doubt you would know this person."

"Or wish to, _hein_?" The man shook his head. "A pity..."

Holmes hummed in agreement, although he suspected his and Beth's mutual distaste for bloodshed might have been something of a hindrance to the group's cause. "There is one favour we would ask of you, _monsieur_. We are on our way to Paris, but to enter the city, it is... a trifle more difficult of late, _n'est-ce pas_?"

The rebels' reactions said clearly that this was an understatement.

"And you prefer to make the more discreet entry." The leader rubbed his chin thoughtfully. " _D'accord_... there are those who can assist you, perhaps."

"In what way, _monsieur_?" Beth asked. She hadn't been to Paris since retrieving the Bruce-Partington plans; she had only the faintest idea of what it was like now.

"Paris is far more than a mere city, _jeune homme_..." The leader's voice took on a reverent note. "She is _la belle dame_ – and, like all of her kind, possesses the infinite hidden depths."

Holmes nodded gravely, he could see where the man was going with this. "As many poor suitors have no doubt discovered." As he and Watson had discovered with the Doctor...

" _Vraiment_. If you also mean to pay court to the lady, _mes amis_ , you must first have the approval of her children."

Beth sighed and shook her head. "I don't understand."

"They are known as _Les Innocents_ – those who dwell in the catacombs, walking her tunnels in far greater security than _la bourgeoisie_ who walk her streets. Convince them to guide you, and you will have your safe passage."

Beth resisted the urge to sigh again: her life was starting to feel like one over-long, badly-plotted quest—all the more so with the goals seeming to shift constantly. "How can we find them?"

The leader nodded at his scout, a young man about the same age as Will. "Marcel knows where."

Beth wasn't sure about that: the boy was giving his commander a dubious look. "He can take you to them."

Holmes had noted the young man's reaction, as well as the leader's use of 'can' rather than 'will'. "We should be glad of your assistance, _monsieur_ ," he said meekly. "Will you show us the way?"

Marcel shrugged, still looking unhappy. " _Eh_ , _bien_." He rose and jerked his head at them to follow. " _Allons_."

Holmes and Beth rose hastily as their guide strode off, collecting their bags; Marcel didn't seem to care whether or not they could keep up.

"What we owe you, _messieurs_..." Holmes began.

The leader held up a hand, cutting him off and waving the two of them away. " _Pas du tout. Bonne chance_ , _mes amis._ "

Beth gave him a heartfelt " _Merci beaucoup_!" then turned and hurried after Marcel. If she focused on their luck at getting a way into Paris, she could almost ignore the pain in her shoulder...

* * *

Despite the guilt he felt over breaking his promise to Sally – and so soon after making it – Watson took the first chance that offered to raid the kitchen and make hasty preparations to leave. He felt recovered enough to at least make it to the nearest railway line, and he could hitch a ride to London on whatever trains were still operating. Sally would be furious, of course, especially as he'd offered to babysit while she slept, then left Kathy with Nikola and a hasty explanation. He comforted himself with the thought that his absence should only be a brief one.

Given what he knew of Moriarty, Watson didn't feel at all confident that Nikola's defences would be sufficient protection should Torchwood discover their hiding place. Besides, there were others to consider, whom Moriarty wouldn't hesitate to use as leverage if it suited him: Wiggins, Mrs. Hudson, Mary... although he still couldn't bring himself to tell Sally what he knew, what Moran had offered him... And with Mycroft no longer at Whitehall, there was only one other person in London that Watson felt certain could be depended on for help, whether or not they remembered him.

Even taking every precaution, he barely made it to the boundary wall before his soldier's sense began tingling. "All right," he sighed, "come on out." Did he have Nikola to thank for this?

Will appeared out of the shadows, frowning. "Yew ain't goin' alone."

Watson returned the frown sternly. "Go back to the house, Will – that's an order."

The young man crossed his arms, chin jutting. "Sorry, Doc, but yew're gonna 'ave t' make me." He shook his head in disbelief. "This is wot got everybody in trouble in the first place, goin' it alone."

Watson coloured and looked away. "I'm sorry, Will... but you can't... _I_ can't..." He took a deep breath and tried again. "Will, I spent nine months with no idea of what was happening to any of you – the only clue I had that you were all right was that Moriarty wasn't taunting me with your deaths..." His voice trailed off again. "I just need to know, while I'm out there, that all of you are safe here."

"Yew _do_ know that, Doctor –" Will answered sharply, "but 'ow's the Missus t' know if _yew_ are?" Watson opened his mouth automatically, then closed it again sheepishly – he'd been trying not to think about that. "'Sides, 'ow d'yew think yew're goin' t' git round London as she is now without some 'elp?"

Watson sighed again; he could see clearly that he wasn't going to win this argument, and they'd wasted enough time already. "Very well..." although he was secretly quite relieved at not having to navigate alone through potentially hostile countryside.

Will smirked. "An' another thing: the Missus'd 'ave my 'ead if Oi let yew go alone."

Watson nodded ruefully, he knew it was true – and he was doubly glad of the company when Will showed him how to bypass Nikola's security system. As they scaled the wall, Watson took one last look over his shoulder at the manor, silently praying he'd be able to come back; his family's safety depended on him, and he was determined not to fail any of them again.

* * *

Thanks to Marcel, the trio travelled without any further mishaps to Rond Point de la Défense on the northwest outskirts of Paris. Holmes was dismayed to find that the war memorial which gave the place its name was no longer there; Marcel informed him that the statue had been melted down for scrap by order of the Emperor, declaring it 'too inflammatory'. "No lasting reminders of the price of war, _hein_?"

Still a mile or so outside the city walls, they had just crossed the bridge over the Seine to Neuilly, when Marcel suddenly changed direction and led them underneath the bridge. A grille was set into the stone foundation, which their guide unbolted to reveal a very low, narrow tunnel. " _Voilà_."

Beth backpedaled from the crawlspace, pale, breathing quickened. She could handle a lot these days without getting skittish at all, but the thought of wriggling through a space even smaller than an MRI tube for an indeterminate amount of time... was just not... not something she could stomach. No light, completely enclosed, and who knew what else might be crawling around inside? Not to mention that it would be murder on her shoulder; the pain had faded to a dull throb, but using her arms as much as she would have to... "Is there—" she swallowed hard—"any other way we can get in?"

Marcel gave her a Look, pointing southeast towards the city gates. " _Oui_ , a mile or two that way."

Holmes looked at Beth in concern, then peered down the tunnel – he couldn't tell from here how long it was. "How far would we have to crawl?"

The young man shrugged. "I've held my breath almost the whole way once, if that helps. This is as far as I go, _messieurs_ – what is it to be?"

Beth grimaced, shuddered... but sighed deeply, looked down, and nodded. If this was the only way... it was the only way. "Very well. _Merci beaucoup_ , Marcel."

Holmes let out a relieved breath, he really hadn't wanted to have to coax Beth in there! " _Bonne chance, mon ami._ " He wound one strap of his pack around his ankle and slid in, grimacing; it was immediately apparent that they'd both be in dire need of a bath by the time they found their way out again.

Beth shuddered as Sherlock entered the crawlspace—she would really rather have faced Shelob's Pass in Middle Earth than have to go in there. But she took another long breath and followed his lead, strapping her own bag around her ankle and crouching down to crawl in after him.

She looked up at Marcel one last time, and the boy looked vaguely impressed. " _Adieu_ ," he said softly. She crawled into the tunnel, shuddering, and heard him say abruptly, "Tell her ' _bonjour_ ' from me."

Beth was doing marginally all right in the tight, dark space, sucking in her stomach a bit, wriggling after Sherlock... until she heard the grille being bolted after them. All at once, all the times she'd ever been trapped rose up to the forefront of her memory. What if Marcel had lied about the distance? It could stretch on interminably, it could even have caved in, and even if it hadn't, would they ever see daylight again, anyway? She could _feel_ all manner of writhing earthy things crawling around her, and she suddenly couldn't quite _breathe_... "Sherlock...?!"

Holmes gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to sigh, which probably wouldn't be at all helpful with Beth in this state. "It's all right, Beth. We can't be far from the end, I can feel a slight draught." He couldn't actually feel any draught at all, but right now he would say whatever was necessary to keep her moving. "Hold the other strap of my bag, then we won't get separated." As if they _could_ get separated at the moment! Still, if nonsense served to distract her...

She whimpered softly, trembling, but grabbed hold of the other strap, anyway. The physical touch helped a little. She closed her eyes—there was no actual difference between the visibility of her surroundings and the backs of her eyelids—and tried to replay her favourite funny scenes from Disney movies in her head. It was something that she'd been trying over the past month or so to help distract her from whatever was eating at her mind, and sometimes it really worked.

Their surroundings, or rather what was above them, suddenly suggested an excellent distraction. "Oh yes, I keep meaning to ask... what exactly did happen with Oberstein?" Holmes silently swore as his face started to turn warm, glad Beth couldn't see him blushing – this was much more awkward than he'd expected. "I know you managed to obtain the plans from him, but none of the, ah, fine detail."

"Oh. Uh..." Zed, _awkward_. She took a shaky breath. "It started with going to Mycroft." She paused—had she really needed to say that? But it was true; they couldn't just ignore that Mycroft was dead when that was what had started this whole journey in the first place. She hadn't even seen Sherlock grieve yet; that probably wasn't healthy. "I needed information, and I desperately needed money. He's the one who gave me the pouch. Will joined me... and we went down to Newhaven; that's when we ran into the press gang..."

 _Mycroft..._ Holmes's face was now a completely different shade – he'd been doing his utmost not to think about... about what had happened, he couldn't afford to, every time he did his insides started tying themselves in knots... He forced himself to breathe, trying desperately to turn his attention back to what Beth was saying.

"...so I bought a dress and got dolled up and went to meet Oberstein to negotiate a price on the plans and... that didn't turn out so well. But Will and I—well, it was really Will—ended up saving Oberstein from this woman who... well, kind of acted like a vampire. I don't think she was human. And kind of because of that... he sold us the plans."

Holmes's ears pricked up at that. He briefly considered explaining about the creature's true identity... but no, telling her that the very same woman had used these catacombs as a lair and hunting ground would probably be better left until they were back above ground. "An alien vampire?" He hoped he sounded suitably astonished.

"Guess so." Ohhhh, gosh, she wasn't sure she'd ever feel clean again... "Can you feel _anything_ different?"

Slithering forward a little more, Holmes's groping hands suddenly found the tunnel walls had ended, a much larger space in front him. "Ah!"

Beth jumped a little. "What is it?! "

"We're at the end." He felt around carefully as he eased out, checking for any unexpected holes or sharp debris. Finding no nasty surprises, he reached above his head and discovered that the ceiling was only about waist height. "Take care coming out – the ground seems all right, but there's still not much head room."

She groaned: better but not _enough_ better. "I don't care _what_ Marcel says—this can _not_ be the only way into the catacombs! "

"Well, of course it isn't," Holmes snorted, still edging forward to let Beth exit the tunnel; "he just brought us to the nearest entrance!"

"Don't get snippy with me!" she snapped back. Then she growled at herself and took a long breath. "I'm sorry." The new space was blessedly bigger, merely cramped rather than straightjacket-esque.

Holmes grinned to himself in the dark. His plan was working: being irritated with him was giving her much less opportunity for brooding. "How's your shoulder?"

She groaned again. "Giving me hell." The area itself still hurt, and her shoulder had not taken kindly to being hit by a small object at high velocity. She eased herself up into a sitting position and gently massaged her shoulder.

"Best not to touch that dressing until we're both a little cleaner." Holmes sat up carefully and untangled himself from his pack strap. "What do we have in the way of lights?" He should have thought to ask that before they even set out from London.

The question made her mood brighten instantly. "Hold on a sec." She thrust her good hand into her jacket and pulled out Nikola's handy invention. "Cover your eyes." She did it herself, then switched the device on. "Say hi to the Teslalight!" she grinned.

Holmes winced, even the low light paining him after all that pitch darkness; he opened his eyes again slowly, lowering his hands and squinting with undisguised curiosity at the device she held.

Beth had been slowly unguarding her own eyes, and she smiled to see Sherlock once again in the dull orange light. "You know flashlights? Or _torches_ , the Doctor probably calls them." Keeping up with two versions of English was almost worse than learning a second language. "Nikola made a handful of them! "

Holmes pursed his lips in a silent whistle. He'd known the lightbulb was already slowly being perfected in this era, with or without Torchwood's interference, and the torch would have been only a few years away from being invented. Still, given what little Tesla must have had to work with, it was an impressive achievement. He suddenly felt uneasy, however, as another memory arose. "What's powering it?"

Beth shrugged. "Some kind of battery he designed for it." Nikola had explained it, but physics were not her strong suit. "Lasts a really long time before it needs to be recharged, which is a good thing for us. "

Holmes nodded, then started hunting around on the floor, picked a suitable-looking rock with a sharp corner and tested it on the nearest wall.

She frowned. "What are you doing? "

Holmes looked up from the shaky beginnings of a letter 'M'. "Well, as far as I'm aware, we didn't bring any chalk. We need something to mark our passage."

Oh, of course. "Gotcha." She coloured slightly. "Sorry, don't go spelunking very often. "

"Who would have thought," Holmes remarked innocently as he finished marking the wall: 'MARCEL', with a long thin triangle underneath pointing to the only other way out. He would have done only one letter, except that it would probably mean nothing to anyone else down here who might see it.

She rolled her eyes, then shivered and hugged herself. She couldn't even stay irritated at him for very long down here—it was just too enclosed and dark and _dead_... "I hope we come out into an _actual_ open space soon."

Holmes had to agree, although choosing to keep such thoughts to himself as he put his pack back on. "Shall we, then?"

Beth hummed mournfully. "Not like there's much of a choice…" She held up the flashlight, expression hopeful. "Light or no light? "

Holmes refrained from blurting out his first impulse, taking a moment to consider. "Exactly how long will that battery last?"

She pressed her lips together. "We think it's twenty-four hours. " They probably ought to stick to the dark for the time being...

Holmes nodded slowly. "Well, we'll need _some_ light at least, we can't risk any further injuries. The way I see it, we have two options: one, move slowly and carefully, turning the light on briefly at intervals; two, keep the light on constantly, except for when resting, and attempt to get as far through the maze as we can before the battery runs out." He looked at her a little sheepishly. "Although if you can think of a third option, now would be a good time to mention."

She blew at her hair in frustration. "I think I'm fresh out." She sighed. "Probably ought to move slower and conserve the battery power—there's no telling when we might need it again. "

"Very well. Would you prefer to lead with it, or shall I?" Looking oddly sheepish herself, Beth handed him the torch; he took it from her without comment, exchanging it for the rock. The casing had a ring conveniently set into it, so Holmes untied his neck cloth, ripped it in half, and used the strips to hang the light around his neck.

"Jolly good," she sighed. She couldn't wait to be out of here.

Holmes shone the torch down the passage as far as he could, scrutinising floor and ceiling for obstructions. "Ready?"

"Not a bit." She got on her hands and knees, then blinked, a blush creeping over her face. This was going to be awkward in more ways than one: previously, she had faced Sherlock's feet in crawling... but now that they were actually on their hands and knees...

Holmes sighed faintly, finished gauging the distance to the next corner by eye. "Light off, then." The darkness closed back in around them. "And... forward."

She bit back the impulse to whimper and set off after him.

After another two sightings, their system seeming to work reasonably well, they emerged into a larger tunnel, high enough to stand up in. To Holmes's relief, there were clear markings on these walls in candle smoke, although only two names were legible, with no date. He marked the wall again with Marcel's name, then hesitated. Which direction should they try first? "We should have thought to bring a compass," he muttered.

Beth could have kicked herself for being such an idiot. Instead, she pulled her compass out of her pack and handed it to him. "Sorry."

Speechless for a moment, Holmes's amusement won out over exasperation with a huff of silent laughter, shaking his head. Why hadn't he seen that coming? He drew a right hand arrow, the passage to their right being the closest they could get to southeast at the moment.

"Anything else we need while we're at it?" she said, self-deprecatingly. She should have thought to pull out the stupid thing much sooner.

Holmes sternly resisted the impulse to say 'a map', not wanting to even imply that they could get that badly lost. "Nothing leaps to mind." He passed the rock back and took Beth's free hand in his before switching the torch off again – one thing you could say for crawling, there was a limit to the number of possible accidents.

Despite the darkness, a little thrill ran through her at the touch, and she had to stop herself from giving his hand a squeeze. "Can we keep talking? " Talking helped keep her claustrophobia away.

Counting steps in his head, Holmes frowned at the distraction. "As long as you don't mind doing most of it. "

He was focussed on something, wasn't he? Zed. "S-sorry, never mind. "

"My apologies, Beth," he sighed, sensing he'd distressed her inadvertently; "but this does require a certain level of concentration."

And on this episode of 'Open Mouth, Insert Foot'... she needed to stop acting childish about this. He'd pushed himself through a lot, physically and probably emotionally, during his Hiatus—her current behavior could not be helping to raise his opinion of her. "Right! It's okay. "

 _...twenty-nine, thirty._ "Lights." Holmes got his bearings, marked the wall again, and they continued on. "Well," he said in a commiserating tone, "you could keep a watch for draughts, if you wish. Even outside the city walls, any other entrances would be useful to know about."

"Got it," she said resignedly.

* * *

They had halted for another rest when Beth felt a familiar tingle in her head. _Nikola calling Beth, come in, over._

Smiling, mood brightening instantly, Beth straightened from where she'd been slumped against the tunnel wall. _Hi!_ She looked at Sherlock and said aloud, "Nikola's calling again." Then, with a concentrated effort, she turned her thoughts fully toward telepathic conversation. _What's up?_

Thank God... it had taken Nikola far longer than usual to home in on Beth. She and Holmes seemed to be underground, from what he could gather: _pitch darkness, freezing cold, Beth's claustrophobia shrilling at the back of her mind..._ and that wasn't all she was trying to ignore, he realised with a shock. She'd been injured – not badly, but every thought was shot through with a thin, scarlet thread of pain... and he couldn't even help to block it out, she was too far off now.

 _Well, the boys managed to retrieve Watson all right,_ he hastened to reassure her – that, at least, he could do. _He's_ _ **very**_ _relieved that you both managed to escape_ – the telepath grimaced – _although he took the news of this latest hiatus about as well as we thought. If he hadn't had his new family to think about..._ Nikola smiled as he remembered Watson's reaction to the news that he was a father again, offering the memory to Beth to look at – he knew how much she'd wanted to be present for that reunion.

Beth had hissed a soft, audible "yes!" at the confirmation of Watson's rescue, and nodded eagerly now at the offer. Her breath caught as the memory appeared before her mind's eye, heart aching with joy to see the Watsons together at last. By the end of it, she was smiling idiotically and brushing away tears.

 _Watson also thought he might know a way to give us 'a little more breathing space', as he put it._

Beth frowned—what was John up to? _How?_

 _He vaguely mentioned an insurance policy, wouldn't go into any detail; but he and Will have just headed back to London to see your... the Chief Inspector._ And Nikola _really_ wouldn't want to be in the doctor's shoes when he got back; Sally had been angry enough with _him_ for letting her husband leave!

 _Oh. I… don't know what good that will do, but I guess it's worth a try._ Even if it only inconvenienced Moriarty, she supposed it would be worth it—she only hoped it wouldn't be at the cost of any more lives. Enough blood had been shed, enough hearts broken. _  
_

 _Mm. Are you two all right?_ It would hardly be appropriate for him to say that he knew she wasn't.

Beth sighed. Emotionally, she wasn't all right; physically, she wasn't all right, but that would probably heal soon, and in either case, she didn't want Nikola to worry when he couldn't do anything about it. _Yeah, pretty much. Had an adventure or two, but... you know, the Continent's a dangerous place these days_. They really could have had it much worse already, running into not two soldiers but the entire French army. _We're okay_.

Nikola wouldn't have needed to be telepathic to hear everything she wasn't saying... Heart aching at her distress, he reached out and 'hugged' her.

She hugged him back, finding the mental gesture incredibly soothing. His presence was everything she missed about home, warm and gentle and affectionate. She had to swallow her rising tears before she could get herself under enough control to say: _Wish us luck?_

 _Good luck, draga,_ he murmured, reluctantly breaking contact. _Godspeed._

* * *

Holmes had been resisting the urge to turn the torch back on with difficulty, finding Beth's silence and slowed breathing decidedly unnerving in this setting; he was more relieved than he cared to admit when he heard her coming back to herself. "...Beth?"

Beth blinked away any telltale moisture in her eyes (in case Sherlock turned on the light, of course) and murmured, "Hi. "

Holmes cleared his throat awkwardly. "All well, I gather?"

"Sounds like it." Beth hesitated, then decided that nothing was going to be accomplished by treading on eggshells around him, and smiled slightly for emphasis. "John just met his baby girl."

Holmes wasn't sure how to respond to that – after all, what could Kit's existence signify in Frozen Time, even if she was Watson's daughter? Well, at least the boys had gotten Watson safely home... though Holmes could almost have wished for the doctor's skills here in the last few hours... His thoughts were interrupted as a very faint scuffing sound reached his ears from further down the tunnel. _Ah._

Beth's breath caught at the sound, and she gripped his hand tightly. She dearly hoped that the people down here weren't the shoot-first-ask-questions-later type.

Holmes had anticipated her reaction this time, and squeezed back reassuringly. "I think, my dear..." he breathed, "we may have just found who we're looking for."

"Yeah, great," she whispered. "Now let's just hope they're mildly friendly... "

"Well, only one way to find out." He switched the torch back on, rose and offered Beth a hand up. "I wonder... Join in if you know this one." Still leading her by the hand, he advanced down the passage, stepping loudly, and began to sing. " _Sur le pont d'Avignon, l'on y danse, l'on y danse_..." _On the bridge of Avignon, we all dance there_... Hopefully, a children's song would persuade whoever was out there that they weren't a threat.

Beth shook her head—she didn't know the song at all, and it would probably do no good to try to hum along. He had a lovely singing voice, though, much like Jeremy's...

"... _Sur le pont d'Avignon, l'on y danse tous en rond_." As they came to the next corner, Holmes shone the light on the ground, examining it closely. "Ah." He smiled on finding what seemed to be recent footprints, and a fresh scent of smoke in the air was too strong to be his imagination.

Beth shifted nervously. "Close? "

"I should say so." He took the rock and marked the wall one last time with Marcel's name, the arrow pointing back the way they'd come.

Beth shivered. "I hope we never have to use those directions."

"Well, if all goes to plan, we won't have to." He led her back up the tunnel to where they'd just been resting. "And now we wait."

Beth groaned and sank to the ground—she was sick to death of waiting; she seemed to never do anything _but_ waiting. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them, sighing.

Holmes couldn't suppress a sigh of his own; Beth's attitude was starting to seriously grate on his nerves. "If we attempt to follow them through the maze without introduction, these people could simply lead us on until the battery ran out. This is their territory, Beth, we have to respect it."

"I know, I know…" Her voice quietened. "I just want to be above ground again. "

Dear God, of all the times for her to fall to pieces: just when they needed to be making a good impression on their prospective guides. Holmes was starting to wonder if it wouldn't have been easier to simply buy their way through the gates. Still... he could hardly blame Beth for following his lead. "Nevertheless," he said stiffly, sitting down opposite, "I should say you were... coping rather well... given the circumstances."

She blinked: that was the first compliment she'd gotten from him in almost three years. She looked up and frowned. "Really?"

Holmes sighed again, strangely nettled by her tone of surprise. "I would not have said so otherwise." If she knew him half as well as she thought, she must be aware he never paid compliments lightly.

She rolled her eyes and looked away. "Yeah, well, sorry, I think that's the first compliment I've gotten from you since, well, we escaped the police."

It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about. "Ah, I see..." Yet another occasion he would prefer not to think about. "Yes, well... I suppose there are certain... similarities." _Running for their lives, odds stacked against them... loved ones lost... Shut_ _ **up**_ _!_

"Mm, sorta..." Beth exhaled slowly as memories of Chloe seeped into her consciousness. Her giggle as she teased Beth, her smile, the squeak in her voice when she was excited that she hated so much... Her empty eyes when her body was being possessed by an sociopathic alien... Beth rested her head on her knees again and bit her lip to hold back her tears.

Holmes sat uncomfortably silent for a while, he could deduce which way her thoughts were turning. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, staring at the wall behind her. "She... The TARDIS should have known better..." He still couldn't understand why the ship had chosen to hide the three of them at a small town high school.

Beth shook herself out of her thoughts, having heard his voice but not quite all of what he said. She looked up at him questioningly. "I'm sorry, what?"

He could only meet her mournful gaze for a moment before having to look away again. "We never should have been there," he mumbled. _One trip only_... fool that he was, thinking it would be that easy...

"Oh." She lowered her knees to gingerly massage her hurting shoulder. "Well..." Her emotions were always mixed and confused when she thought about it, what had happened when the three men were at her school. On one hand, her best friend was murdered. On the other hand, if they hadn't come... she would never have met the most amazing history teacher and probably the bravest man she'd ever known... and she never would have met Sherlock Holmes and John Watson and gone time-travelling. And that, too, she had mixed feelings about, all things considered. She would never have met Sally or Will or the rest of the boys or George and Nikola otherwise... and she could also have never had to endure everything she'd suffered since leaving home.

And at this rate, she was going to consider dying of a bullet a mercy, and not merely because there were far worse fates to be suffered in Frozen Time. Her worst fear was surviving it all, ending Frozen Time... and going back, back home... And surely having to live on with a broken heart would be more painful.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and murmured, "It's not like it was your fault..."

Holmes nodded stiffly. "Nevertheless..." His voice trailed away again, unsure of how to voice his regrets – the way he was going, he'd end up either sounding like a babbling idiot or a complete hypocrite.

"Mm..." Beth stared out into the darkness, letting her gaze unfocus. "The TARDIS must have known what she was doing." She'd asked the night that question so many times: why? Why there, why then, why them, why _her_? In the end, she could only figure that the TARDIS, whom she knew from the Doctor's memories to be sentient, had chosen those precise circumstances for a reason. _What_ reason, exactly, she'd never been able to figure, but she hoped it was a damn good one.

Holmes shrugged, unconvinced – it was fruitless to argue the point now, anyhow.

"It's not really her fault anyway," Beth continued softly. "it was the Family that..." She had to bit her lip against her increasingly uneven breathing and the lump in her throat. She was _not_ going to cry in front of him; she refused to.

He frowned, irritation combining with growing concern – the very last thing he needed was Beth dissolving into hysterics. "You're shivering," he said abruptly, which was true enough: underground was fractionally less cold than the open air, but the chill damp seeped into one's bones, especially when at rest. "Perhaps we ought to... sit closer together, share warmth?" Feeling his face growing warm again, he added hastily, "It really wouldn't do for either of us to fall ill. " He didn't know if that was actually possible now, but that was beside the point.

She glanced at him, surprised. "Um... true." After... everything... she would have thought that would be the last thing he'd suggest, let alone want. "All right..." She failed entirely, however, to make herself scoot over to him.

Holmes blushed deeper as she hesitated, but made himself come forward and sit beside her, shoulders touching. Only then did it become apparent that this was going to be a hindrance; he cleared his throat again. "If you'll allow me..." He raised his near arm and tentatively put it around her, drawing her in closer.

She blushed herself but remained still as he put his arm around her, grateful for the warmth and the contact. She hesitated, then nestled into his hold, resting her head on him, content and already shivering less.

Holmes felt certain his face couldn't get any redder without bursting into flames, wishing fervently for the hundredth time that he _had_ gone and slept in the stable... but at least Beth seemed to be calmer now. "Better?"

"Mm, much," she murmured. She exhaled slowly as the memories of Chloe crowded her mind again. After a few seconds, she said, very quietly, "I still miss her..."

Holmes's chest was aching strangely, once more at a loss for what to say that might help; all the same, he should probably make an effort. "I know..." he ventured softly, then cringed inwardly – yes, _very_ comforting.

She nestled in a tiny bit more, eyelids floating now that she was warm and comfortable and secure. Even if she felt sad...

Well, wasn't this marvellous – and after everything he'd promised himself about maintaining standards! His embarassment aside, however, there didn't seem much point in disturbing her, and Holmes couldn't pretend he wasn't glad of the extra warmth. Oh well... "Go to sleep, Beth," he said quietly, "it's all right." God only knew when she'd have the chance again, and he'd have to stay awake anyhow to keep watch.

"Are you sure?" she said drowsily. She hadn't _meant_ to get sleepy, but she was warm and comfortable and _tired_... But she could probably stay awake if she tried. If he'd rather she didn't fall asleep on him, literally.

He sighed. "Quite." Still, he could understand why she'd be uncertain. After a moment's thought, he started humming 'A La Claire Fontaine', a repetitive, hypnotic tune, one that had never failed to soothe him as a boy. He was tired enough himself that he had make an effort not to sing the words – singing to Beth about a lost love would hardly be appropriate in the circumstances!

Beth allowed herself to relax completely, smiling at the sound. It was so... nice...

Holmes kept humming until he was sure she'd fallen asleep, then switched off the torch, tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He'd hear anyone... approaching... long before...

* * *

 **Ria:** *hearts for eyes* Just for the record, Jeremy Brett does have a delicious singing voice – I can't understand why they dubbed someone else's voice for his role in _My Fair Lady_!

 **Sky:** Yeah, I will be forever bitter about that. :P Stay tuned, 'cos things are about to get 100% crazier for our favorite non-couple!


	7. La Ville Sombre

**==Chapter 7==**

 **La Ville Sombre**

 _We are free to choose our actions, …but we are not free to choose the consequences of these actions._

– Stephen R. Covey

"Wake up!"

Holmes was snapped awake by a sharp kick to his foot, opening his eyes blearily, only to be half-blinded by bright light. He shaded his watering eyes hastily, forgetting that his left arm was around Beth until he jostled her. Thank God... he had been starting to wonder if they would ever get out alive. " _Merci beaucoup_ , _mon ami_ , it was good of you to come."

Beth groaned, snapped awake at Sherlock's voice, then scrambled off of him at the sight of the shadowy newcomer.

The figure holding the lantern snorted, their voice gruff. "A little early for thanks, _n'est-ce pas_? Who are you?"

"Jean Bonnard, _monsieur_ , and my son Benjamin." There was something off about the stranger's voice, but Holmes wasn't of a mind to point it out. "We mean no harm to anyone here, we merely seek a way into the city."

There was a bark of scornful laughter. "You've been marking your path, _oui_? _Eh bien_ , be wise, and return the way you came."

"Please, _monsieur_ ," Beth said plaintively, "we must go forward."

"It is quite impossible for us to go back, _monsieur_ –" Holmes said firmly; "Marcel was..."

"Marcel?!" The stranger's voice had lost its gruffness, becoming much higher pitched. "Ohhh, _Sainte_ _Mère de Dieu_ , _he_ sent you here?"

Holmes's lips twitched. "He is family, _mam'zelle_?" 'Tell her " _bonjour_ "' was finally making sense.

The light shifted to reveal a young woman, dressed in shirt, coat and breeches, hair cut short. " _Mais oui_ ," she replied in acid tones, "my brother! And where, pray, is _le vaurien_?"

 _My brother..._ Striving to ignore the sudden stab of pain in his chest, Holmes managed to answer, "...I suspect, _mam'zelle_ , you would prefer not to know. He could not accompany us further than Neuilly, but he sends his greetings – he must have felt certain we would meet."

The woman sniffed. "I'm sure!"

Beth shook her head—typical little brother. And she'd have to remember that trick of keeping her face out of lantern light; there had been no way to tell that the shadowy figure was a woman until she had changed her voice.

The detective spread his hands. " _Alors_ , _mam'zelle_ , what now? This changes nothing, after all; you do not have to help us."

The woman sighed deeply, shaking her head. "The next time I see that little weasel, he'll wish he'd never been born."

Holmes froze, the last words seeming to echo in his ears...

"Is that not a bit harsh, _mam'zelle_?" Beth asked wryly. She did sympathise with wanting to kill one's younger brothers, but surely Marcel's sins couldn't be _that_ bad.

Holmes rose slowly to his feet, avoiding looking either woman in the eye, as Marcel's sister gave a bitter laugh. "The last of my family runs off to play soldiers in the snow, while I'm stuck living down here like a damned mole! How forgiving would you feel, _hein_?"

Beth tilted her head in consideration. "I would be out there making sure that family didn't get themselves killed... and kill them if they did." When her brother Geoff had entered the military, a fourteen-year-old Beth had warned him that if he got himself killed, she would kill him. Fortunately, she hadn't had to yet.

The woman looked pointedly at Beth's bandaged shoulder, visible through the bullet hole in her coat sleeve, then turned with a scornful toss of her head. "Think what you like, _boy_ , it's no matter to me." She led them back along the tunnel, nodding at Holmes's latest signpost as they passed, but without any change in expression at her brother's name.

Holmes felt a sudden chill as he realised: Marcel's sister couldn't read. He and Beth were incredibly fortunate that she had chosen to investigate the fresh markings anyhow...

Their guide led them silently and swiftly through the labyrinth, for what felt like an interminably long time to Beth. At least they were moving quickly now, and with someone who knew the territory. At one point, the woman frowned and Beth halted—she could hear the faint but unmistakable sound of children's voices. The woman continued on, and Beth followed reluctantly this time. Of course, she missed her brothers and sister, an ever-present dull ache in her chest. And now she missed the Irregulars as well.

After a while, she broke the silence when she couldn't stand it any longer. "Who all lives down here, exactly?"

Their guide shrugged. "Who doesn't?" she said flatly. "The soldiers won't come down here any more, they've lost too many. All we have to worry about now is starving to death!"

"Doesn't everybody," Beth said grimly. She'd heard tales of deaths from starvation, of people so desperate for food that they ate their pets... and... other tales she could only wish weren't true. She knew better than to think they weren't.

Holmes had remained silent since setting out, insides still knotted from his earlier shock, but the dour, matter-of-fact exchange between the two women was making him feel sicker than ever. As much as he longed for the open air, it was rapidly dawning on him that the rebel leader had been right: the upper city wasn't going to be any kind of improvement.

Finally, the woman stopped under a manhole. Handing the lantern to Beth, she climbed the ladder and cautiously raised the iron cover an inch.

Beth twitched impatiently—at last, they were about to get back above ground!

But their guide looked grim when she came back down. "We're at the western edge of the Place de la Concorde. There's quite the gathering right now, though, you'd be wise to wait awhile."

A cold knot formed in Beth's stomach; she could certainly make a good guess. "What sort of gathering?"

"One of Madame Guillotine's little affairs. They're becoming quite popular." A chill swept through Holmes, the woman's jaded tone eloquent – the executions were still going?! But his thoughts were already darkly hissing in answer: _Madmen never run out of scapegoats..._

"So I understand," Beth gritted out, pale. She glanced at Sherlock, and was shocked to see him looking downright ill, face white as a sheet even in the lantern light. Bad memories? Had he seen a beheading before?

The woman shook her head. "A fair few of the nobles used their heads while they still had them, and got to safety—although we didn't get many coming this way. Now, it's anyone who speaks out against the Emperor and his holy war..."

"Right," Beth said, horrified, "because beheading people is so holy." She laid a hand on Sherlock's arm in concern, unnerved to see him looking like this.

Holmes flinched, deeply thankful for the distraction – for a moment, he'd been back in the castle courtyard _, watching Locksley being dragged to the scaffold_... Shuddering, he took a deep breath, making the woman a slight bow. "We will bid you 'adieu' then, _mam'zelle_. Thank you for all that you have done."

She shrugged, taking the lantern back from Beth. "It was little enough, _monsieur_. Take care when exiting, won't you?"

He gave her a tight nod, jaw and fists clenching as he looked up at their exit... _Robin's last anguished screams as the blade fell..._ _Stop it! I_ _ **couldn't**_ _have saved him... none of them... No, not_ _ **then**_ _..._

Beth watched him uncertainly; she couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking. Nodding at their guide, she turned to the ladder and began the climb. The woman's alarmed voice stopped her.

" _Non_ , _non_ , not now! Someone might see you!"

Holmes, who'd been about to follow Beth up the ladder, stopped dead... then turned back, eyes blazing with fury, his voice almost a growl: "And what would _you_ suggest, _mam'zelle_? Wait until all eyes are fixed upon the falling blade?"

Beth stared in shock at Sherlock for the second time in as many minutes. Recovering, she looked down at the woman, and pitied her. She knew what it was like to live in fear, for that fear to wind itself around you, as binding as any prison. " _Mam'zelle_ , I'm sorry, but we must go."

The woman had opened her mouth to argue, but she must have gotten a good look at Holmes's eyes in the lantern light, because she quickly closed it again, looking thoroughly cowed.

"Truly, _mam'zelle_ ," Holmes said quietly, voice cold, "'little enough'. Marcel was wise to leave this place, it is a tomb for more than the dead." He turned his back pointedly, pretending not to hear the woman's breath catch behind him.

The woman stared up at Beth and Sherlock, outrage, longing, and misery in her eyes... then turned and hurried away up the passage. The darkness closed in swiftly after her, and Beth wished that she could have said something more, anything. Biting her lip, she scrambled up the ladder and paused at the top, peering out. Well, that was handy: someone had parked a cart near the hole.

Shoving the cover to one side, she hoisted herself up and out as smoothly as possible and then quickly rose to her feet. Thank goodness, no one appeared even to be looking in their direction.

Holmes was right behind her, moving the heavy plate back into place once he'd climbed out. He peered around the corner of the cart, taking in the scene before them. A handful of stalls remained at the edges of the square, the vendors as gaunt and hollow-eyed as the customers they were failing to attract. Despite the grandeur of the space, statues and fountains all still intact, the square had a bleak, desolate air; strangely, this was only emphasised by the rapidly growing crowd converging on the guillotine scaffold, which almost appeared to skulk at the foot of the world-famous obelisk, as if it knew its very existence was a disgrace. The detective shuddered at the sight, relieved beyond words to see that the only people standing beside the guillotine itself were in uniform – there was still time, although probably not much.

Beth had crouched beside him, and murmured, "Sherlock, are you okay?" He didn't answer, or even seem as if he'd heard her, his features as pale and set as marble. It didn't take a genius to deduce the direction of his thoughts, or the fact that he _must_ have witnessed a guillotine execution once, but his behaviour was scaring her. She reached out and lay a hand on his arm again. " _Sherlock_."

He flinched again, still not quite able to look her in the face. "Forgive me, Beth... I must confess I... I find myself unable to leave just yet..." He didn't doubt her courage, but to drag her into this without even asking her...

She nodded her understanding, heart aching to see him like this. Whatever had happened in the past, she wished she could take away his pain. "Is Operation Rescue a go, then?"

He gave her a ghost of a grateful smile, trying to respond lightly and failing completely. "Indeed – although I feel compelled to mention that this plan is in much the same style as all of our previous ones..." Improvising as they went.

Beth shrugged. "Welcome to my life." She peered over the cart and surveyed the scene herself. "Any ideas at all?"

Holmes's eyes narrowed as he took in the different vendors: mostly hardware, but there was also a fishmonger's stall, and the two merchants manning it clearly didn't have to worry about thieves, as they were both armed to the teeth. "That pair have the right idea... I wonder... how are our funds at the moment?"

She followed his gaze and frowned. "Not about to run out any time soon... _"_

Holmes nodded. "Then may I suggest, my dear, that you go and buy some fish? I'll meet you on the other side of the scaffold." He'd noted that the soldiers on guard weren't doing the old trick of using the guillotine to slice melons in half and throw them to the crowd; doing such a thing now would cause an uproar, which boded well for his plan.

She stared at him in surprise. "Okay... _Please_ be careful, all right?" She didn't know what he had planned, but she doubted that John had exaggerated Sherlock's recklessness in the stories.

He gave her the best look of affronted innocence he could manage, then strolled casually out from behind the cart and made his way across the square, skirting the edge of the crowd.

* * *

 _(Scene rating: V)_

Beth hurried to the fishmongers, wishing she knew how much time she had. Her heart felt as if it were throbbing in her throat when she tried to speak to the fishmongers, wishing she knew what Sherlock had in mind. But she managed to purchase two large bags of fish, at a criminal price—since she didn't know what it was for yet, she decided the more the better—and made her way back to Sherlock. "All right, fish. Now, how exactly is this going to go down?"

Just then, the noise from the crowd doubled as a horse-drawn cart entered the square, surrounded by mounted soldiers... and Holmes saw with a pang of dismay that there were _two_ prisoners, not one, as he'd hoped: a middle-aged couple, a baker and his wife, both looking decidedly worse for wear. What revolted Holmes most was that the roar of the crowd wasn't in protest – the only thing concerning these people was that someone else was about to die, not them. Two less mouths to feed...

He had to raise his voice to speak into Beth's ear. "We throw a match into the powder keg. Look at the soldiers' faces, Beth – this mob's baying for blood, they don't even care whose." He took one of the bags from her. "And if you were melting down candles to keep from starving, what would you do if food suddenly appeared in front of you?"

Beth felt a strange calm come over her as she listened to him and studied the scene around her, the calm she'd felt a few times before when about to do something very dangerous. Her heart still crashed against her rib cage, but her mind had slipped into a sort of tunnel vision. She turned back to him, her tone deadly serious.

"It's going to start a riot. And, Sherlock, I know we're running out of time, but please be _very_ sure this is how you want to do this, because I have seen a _lot_ of riots and we may save that couple, but there's a _strong_ chance that other people will be killed just for the chance to eat actual food again."

Holmes nodded, face set – even if he had thought of a Plan B, it would have been far too late to carry it out. "Get to the other side of the scaffold," he said tersely, "then throw that bag as far and high as you can towards the edge of the crowd." At least those closest to the platform wouldn't be crushed.

Nodding back, she deadpanned, "Well, you're lucky I do sports." Tossing her bag wouldn't be easy. She forced her way around to the other side, helped by the crowd parting for the approaching horses, then leaped and hurled the bag into the air.

A shocked hush immediately began to fall over the crowd, and in that moment Holmes turned and bellowed, "Compliments of the Emperor!", hurling his own bag in the opposite direction. All eyes followed the flying bags, which landed with twin squelching sounds, spilling their contents onto the paving stones. There was a collective gasp from those on the edge of the crowd, followed by complete and utter chaos, as people began surging away from the platform to join in the struggle, followed closely by most of the vendors.

Eyes wide, Beth ran back to Sherlock. "Okay, what now?!"

Holmes was about to tell her to follow him to the stalled cart – all those frightened horses were providing the perfect distraction – but froze at the chilling command from the senior officer on the scaffold: "Hold position! Make ready!"

Some of his subordinates looked more uncertain than ever, but no one refused the order, raising their rifles and preparing to fire on the crowd.

Beth didn't take time to think about it: anger flashed through her as she whipped out her revolver and took aim. No civilians were dying on her watch. She fired... and the officer dropped to the boards without another sound.

Holmes stared, turning pale as screams broke out around them; it was one thing to know that Beth was a crack shot, but to actually _watch_ her shoot someone, with such deadly precision... and if not for him, he realised in horror, she might not have needed to – the riot _he'd_ started had forced the officer's hand.

The soldiers looked in their direction, and Beth realised: the noise of the shot had given away their position. "Aw, zed. " Well, that hadn't been her most thought-out move...

Holmes raised his hands above his head very slowly, acutely conscious of every single muzzle pointed at the pair of them. The soldiers might not have been sure of how to handle the mob, but they certainly knew who had just killed their commanding officer!

"Murdering dogs!" a grizzled sergeant spat, assuming command. "Guillotine be damned – shoot these four and we'll be off! Let this rabble slit each other's throats..."

Beth paled, still burning with anger, both at the soldiers and at herself. She lowered her gun, not looking once at Sherlock—too ashamed, and too afraid of what she might see in his eyes.

Holmes looked up at the firing squad coolly, feeling more resigned than anything else. Well, it had been a good run while it lasted. A strange way to go, being shot in the middle of a crowd... but there were worse ways to die than repaying a debt. _I'm sorry, Beth..._

The baker's wife caught Beth's eye as the rest of the soldiers prepared to shoot her and her husband, and gave her a faint, trembling smile. Both prisoners were pale but composed, a peace that Beth envied.

Beth tried to return the smile but couldn't, sick to her stomach. After everything she'd been through, she and _Sherlock_ —half of the world's hope for ever getting out of this hell and the person she loved more than anyone else in her life—were about to be killed for _her_ mistake.

Holmes flinched at the sound of the first shots... then realised that there was no pain, he hadn't been hit. The shots were coming from the other side of the square! What on earth...?

The soldiers turned in confusion, more of them cut down before they could return fire, the mob around the scaffold scattering in growing panic. Taking advantage of their guards' inattention, the baker whispered urgently to his wife, then all but threw her over the side of the cart.

Holmes rushed forward with Beth, steadying the woman as she landed, her husband right behind. "Stay down!" he hissed, looking around for the best escape route, something he'd completely failed to consider earlier!

" _Içi, vite_!" To Holmes's astonishment, the call had come from another manhole on the east side of the square – it was Marcel's sister.

Weak with relief, Holmes pointed her out to the couple. "Go on, we'll draw their fire!"

The woman—Beth had heard the baker call her _Annette_ —clutched her husband's hand, trembling. "René?

René squeezed her hand. "Courage _, cherie_." He turned to Beth and Sherlock. "Heaven bless you, _messieurs_ ," he said fervently. " _Adieu_."

" _Adieu_ ," said Beth. She wished them all the best, even if it was only to be hiding away in the catacombs with the rest of _Les Innocents_. It _was_ a life, of sorts. As the couple broke cover, Beth turned to Sherlock and took his hand in hers. " _Allons-y_ ," she said wryly, and they sprinted together for the nearest exit.

" _Attention, ils fuient_!" One of the soldiers had spotted the fleeing couple.

Beth turned at the shout and realised in which direction the soldiers were about to shoot. "Oh, for crying out loud!" She fired in the general direction of the men, which was returned generously. _Les Innocents_ were no longer shooting, apparently considering their mission accomplished. Beth and Sherlock were on their own now, fleeing the square well behind the last of the crowd.

The sergeant's voice sounded behind them. "After them!"

"Terrific!" Beth groaned. "I hope you have some idea of where we're going—I sure don't!"

Too out of breath to respond, Holmes merely cast a withering glance sideways. Of course he knew – even in Frozen Time, Paris was his second London. The Tuileries Gardens were directly ahead of them, and Holmes was fairly certain they could hide themselves in there until the soldiers gave up, or better yet, sneak out through one of the other gates.

Beth followed his lead, having no idea where they were. "Okay, for what it's worth, I _am_ sorry!"

Holmes gave her another Look as the sound of horses' hooves grew louder behind them. Seriously, she wanted to talk about this _now_?

Beth sighed.

Just ahead, one of the statues, a female figure in a Greek gown, moved suddenly and fluidly. Beth gave a startled cry. The statue turned toward them and their pursuers and released a high, thin, piercing scream.

Holmes had gasped as the statue moved, skidding to a halt – a Weeping Angel?! No, impossible, the Doctor said they couldn't move when seen! Then the detective's hands flew to his ears as the creature _screeched_ , wincing in pain.

Beth covered her ears as well, grimacing, eyes wide. She _knew_ this scream, she'd heard it before, and she wasn't sure that dealing with a lady vampire was a better alternative to fleeing the soldiers.

Behind them, panicked screams of horses and the shouts of their riders replaced the noise of pursuit. For better or for worse, the diversion had been successful.

The lady vampire scrambled down from her place and beckoned to Beth and Sherlock. "Come, hurry...!" Her smile was one of recognition. "Come, I have a way of escape!"

Beth stared uncertainly at her, still feeling a bit dazed from the scream.

Holmes's eyes widened as he realised who the 'statue' must be, grabbing the pistol from Beth and aiming it at their supposed rescuer. "I should have known it would be you, Mam'zelle," he said coldly. Of all the agents Moriarty could have sent after them, he'd never so much as considered...

"We've no time for this," the woman snapped back. "If you wish to be shot like common criminals, you may, but I _can_ get you out of here. "

Beth laughed incredulously. "Why the hell should we trust you?! "

The woman gave her a Look. "Soldiers. Guns. Are you coming?"

Holmes snorted scornfully, not in the least convinced. "At least they're not Moriarty's pets! Consider this your only warning, Mam'zelle. The next time we meet, I will shoot." Taking Beth's hand again, he headed for the nearest grove of trees.

The woman's voice followed them. "What of the girl? She is wounded, no? " Well, Beth had to give her points for persistence.

Holmes's grip tightened on the pistol, the red mist returning... The moment they'd reached the shelter of some bushes, he whirled and launched himself at the creature, bringing her to the ground. Dropping the pistol, he drew his knife and held it to her throat – he could hardly fire with the soldiers so near.

Beth gasped, taken aback by his viciousness.

The lady vampire looked as shocked as Beth felt. " _Monsieur_ , I swear the Professor has nothing to do with this. "

Holmes's eyes burned with cold fury. "Your word means nothing to me, Mam'zelle. The Doctor spared your life, and how did you repay him?"

The woman laughed bitterly. "I call it _survival_. Watch others drive stakes through the hearts of all those dear to you, _monsieur_ , and then come back to me with your moral high ground."

Beth flinched—she couldn't begin to imagine...

Holmes was silent. _She may have a point... Ha! Oh, come now,_ his thoughts murmured, _have you_ _ **really**_ _done all that differently from her?_ After a long moment, he responded grudgingly, "If you speak true, Mam'zelle... lead them away from us. You know how." Her shifting talents might as well be of use to them, if only this once.

The woman pressed her lips together, then nodded in resignation. "And I was going to invite you to dinner," she said ruefully.

Beth groaned in spite of herself—she had _not_ wanted to hear that. It must have been almost a day since they last ate, and now that she was reminded that food existed, she felt ravenous.

Holmes gave the woman a mirthless smile, letting her up and putting his knife away. "Sadly, Mam'zelle, I do not believe our paths will cross again." He felt sure she had heard the unspoken warning in his voice. " _Adieu_."

Beth was surprised to see that the woman looked genuinely stricken at that. _Oh my gosh, she doesn't_ _ **like**_ _him, does she?!_ " _Adieu_ ," the woman said in a subdued tone. She turned to Beth and nodded to her. "Good luck." She whirled around and slipped away, disappearing in a moment.

Staying low, Holmes retrieved the pistol and led Beth off without looking back, heading for the northern edge of the grounds. Hopefully, at least one of the other gates would be unlocked; he'd rather not make Beth scale the fence with her shoulder wound.

"Okay," Beth murmured, "so… you and the lady vampire..."

Holmes sighed – there it was, he'd just known Beth wouldn't be able to resist asking. "...have met before, yes."

Beth winced, but her curiosity overrode her sense of caution. "That much was very obvious… "

Oh yes, and what other 'obvious' conclusions was she drawing? He exhaled forcefully through his nose, inquiring acidly, "Well, was there anything in particular you wished to know, or are you going to keep floundering among half-finished sentences?"

Zed, what was wrong with him? "Fine," she snapped back. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've slept with her, because that's sure what it looked like." She did know better, or was pretty sure she did, but his behaviour and attitude...

He barely suppressed a snort, sarcastic tone just short of a sneer. "Oh, absolutely! I abandoned every vestige of common sense and had a liaison with an alien predator, not only overlooking the fact that she was one of Moriarty's lackeys, but that the first time we met, she had every intention of drinking me dry!" And probably would have done, if the two Doctors hadn't turned up at the crucial moment...

Beth grimaced. "Well, it doesn't exactly clash with willingly submitting to a master criminal who was trying to kill you four years ago! Besides... she obviously has a thing for you..."

"The very least of my concerns at present," Holmes answered tersely. Or Beth's concern at all, for that matter. Why this sudden fixation of hers, anyhow?

Crossing several hedged terraces, they reached the boundary fence, following it until they came to an open gate. Holmes stood upright and strolled casually through into the street – Rue Ravoli, if memory served – then continued leading Beth clockwise around the garden, ears pricked for any further sounds of pursuit.

By then, Beth was slowing down—the adrenaline had worn off, and her shoulder hurt, and she was hungry and moving on very little sleep... "I'm sorry," she murmured at last. "Where are we going?"

Glancing back over his shoulder, Holmes's expression softened as he looked at Beth properly for the first time since emerging from the catacombs. "The Latin quarter. Unless I'm much mistaken, we should able to find beds –" ruefully taking in his own bedraggled appearance, "and even more importantly, baths."

Her face lit up in a tired smile. "Oh my gosh, really? That would be _awesome_." Having a bath sounded like heaven right now.

Holmes's chest felt suddenly tight; Beth's smile might be weary and grime-covered, but her eyes... when had he last seen them shining like that? _Maybe,_ his thoughts whispered in derision, _the last time you gave her a reason... Shut up... How long ago was that, nine months? Shut_ _ **up**_ _. You're an idiot..._ Strangely, Holmes couldn't disagree.

* * *

The accommodation Holmes had in mind was the Hôtel de Cluny: a large, medieval-style mansion, visible even from Notre-Dame; he had visited on several occasions in '91, back when it was still a museum. On arrival, he noted with satisfaction that _la bourgeoisie_ were going in and out without hindrance, and quite a few of them seemed to be students. "We're in luck – it seems to have been turned into a boarding house. And there are the baths." Right beside the mansion, the old Roman ruins had been returned to their former glory. "Perhaps we ought to go there first."

At this point Beth was having to keep herself from leaning against him, almost swaying on her feet. "Maybe we should still get a room first. I don't know about you, but if I got into a warm bath now, I might pass out."

"Very well," he nodded, then was struck by a sudden thought: "You'll need to change clothes in any case – your visiting the baths dressed as a boy would probably cause comment."

"Mm, maybe. I probably should have put the skirt back on sooner..." Before she could catch herself, she swayed a little on her feet.

Holmes took her elbow, frowning – Beth did look almost on the point of collapse. "Come along."

Although crowded, the hotel still had a few rooms available; their second floor chamber even had two beds, but sadly no fireplace. Holmes locked the door as Beth stretched out on the nearest bed with a grateful sigh; dropped his bag and trudged over to the other, groaning softly as he rolled his weary body onto it. The sagging mattress felt more luxurious right now than an eiderdown...

Beth rolled over to face him. "Taking a rain-check on the baths? "

He hummed tiredly, already half asleep. "Mm..."

She smiled. "Goodnight, Sherlock. "

"Goo'night," he murmured.

She watched him as his breathing quickly evened out, wishing she dared to snuggle up against him again. She hadn't thought it was possible to fall in love with someone you already loved, but now... Now she'd fallen in love with him all over again just for trying to save René and Annette, even knowing the odds were stacked against them... Her stupid, stubborn hero, no matter how hard he might protest it...

* * *

 **Ria:** Poor Beth, bet she never thought _she'd_ have a rival! She's so adorable when she's jealous, though...

 **Sky:** Yeah, d'awww. Basically, I kind of love everything that happens in this chapter, _especially_ Sherlock wanting to save the couple. It's such a great moment. Stay tuned, and Happy Belated Wholloween!


	8. Blurred Lines

**==Chapter 8==**

 **Blurred Lines**

 _Hard to sit here and be close to you, and not kiss you._

– F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender Is The Night

Deep in the back slums of Old London, two men moved warily along a rubbish-filled alley. Both could sense the many pairs of eyes watching their every movement, though no one had showed themselves yet.

The younger one kept his hand close to his knife, tense as a wound spring. "Oo's bright idea was this again?" he muttered. Will wished fervently that he'd never told Watson about Moran shooting at Beth—or anything about Moran and Beth—on the way to London. He still wasn't sure why he had in the first place, especially when Watson had been white as a sheet all the way through the telling.

"We've no choice, Will," Watson muttered back. "All we've got is a fanciful tale, we need _something_ concrete to help back it up." Even with Holmes's track record, convincing Lestrade to give him the benefit of the doubt had been difficult enough under normal circumstances.

Will nodded reluctantly. "Jus' wish we 'ad anythin' else—one bullet ain't much t' go on, even for the Guv'nor."

"I know," Watson sighed, "but we don't have any other options. This is _Moriarty_ we're talking about – it took Holmes years even to get close to defeating him the first time." Although now it looked as if that hadn't been the case at all.

Will brightened in relief as at last they reached their destination, then sobered. _Beth's weak screams... the dark form bent over her... having to keep the other boys back and send someone for a blanket when he saw the state she was in..._ He pointed. "This is it, Doctor, where we foun' 'em."

Watson took a long breath, doing his best not to visualise the scene that Will had described and failing miserably; shook his head, then bent to examine the ground. "It must be somewhere around here – ah! Look." Fragments of brick still lay in the mud from where they'd been knocked loose from the wall. "Dear God, it was powerful enough."

Will nodded grimly and cast the light from their dark lantern onto the wall above the fragments, quickly spotting the large chunk of missing brickwork. "There it is!"

"Good man." Watson moved forward and peered into the hole. "I think I see it!" He produced a pocket knife, opened it and poked the blade into the hole, trying to dig out the remains of the bullet without scratching it, while Will kept the light steady in the right place. "It's coming loose..." Something was definitely starting to move in there.

Will's ears pricked at the sound of scuffing footsteps beyond Watson. Oh no, not now... "'Urry it up, Doctor," he muttered urgently.

"Got it!" Watson triumphantly extracted the bullet, turning to Will as he tucked it into his pocket. "Hurry up... oh..." Beyond Will, several figures were emerging from the shadows; Watson drew his revolver.

Will swore; they were surrounded, and these men looked more than desperate enough to risk a few bullets. He drew his knife, scooped up a handful of mud with his other hand, and grinned evilly at the nearest figure to their right, beckoning to him. "C'mon, then, try it! Wot ear don't y' want?"

"Will..." Watson kept his thumb near the revolver's hammer, though not cocking it yet, and raised his voice. "We're only passing through, we don't want any trouble." Not that he thought it would deter anyone, but he was still bound to make the attempt.

As if in reply, a large chunk of brick came flying straight at Watson, just missing his head. A second missile was hurled at Will, who grunted in pain as it caught him on the left upper arm. "Will!" Watson cried in alarm.

"Get 'em!" Men armed with chains, knives and cudgels rushed the pair from all sides. Taken off guard, Watson cocked and fired blindly – it hardly mattered where in a melée like this. He managed to duck beneath the blows of the closest two attackers, swinging the revolver like a cudgel in one direction, his left fist in an uppercut in the other.

Will's nearest attacker moved in, a length of chain whistling down towards the boy's head. Will charged forward under the swing and rammed himself and his knife into the man's stomach, both going down, Will on top. He shoved his fistful of mud into the man's face, yanked his knife free... and received a kick to his stomach from someone else. Gasping for breath, he tried to roll away to get back on his feet, only to be met by a rain of blows from the men hanging back from the first rush.

"Will!" Out of the corner of his eye, Watson saw Will go down, and that moment's distraction was enough; caught off balance, pain quickly overtook adrenaline as he was beaten down by the men surrounding him.

Knowing they were hopelessly outnumbered, Will shielded his head with his arms, and did his best to think past the pain, to cling to consciousness. He knew from experience that the odds of survival were slightly better by staying awake, however badly injured. He had to go limp in another few seconds; at this point, the best he or the Doc could hope for was being left for dead.

Just then, the sound of more gunshots rang out, seeming to come from every direction. The attack stopped abruptly, someone yelling, "Scarper, it's the bloody militia!" Every thief that was able took to their heels, leaving their victims and dead behind.

Watson had managed to stay on his knees before their assailants retreated; he tried to get to his feet, groaning as his bad leg protested. "Will?"

Every part of him stiff and throbbing, Will uncurled and pushed himself up to his feet, eyes wide. "Bloody 'ell, Doc, Oi thought we were cooked! Yew all roight?" He took Watson's hand and helped him to rise; it was tragically easier now than it would have been nine months ago.

Watson winced as he rose – his back seemed to have gotten the worst of it, he was going to have a dreadful time once it stiffened up. "Well, I've been better..." he grunted, then froze, turning white with shock.

A handful of men and women were emerging silently from the building opposite, all armed with swords and guns, a few of them bundled up so that their faces could hardly be seen... but Watson only had eyes for one face... Mary, _his_ Mary, stood before him, alive and well, just as Moran had said... She was dressed in coat and breeches, hair braided, carrying a pistol, and looking the battered pair over with a faint smile of concern. "Gentlemen. Pardon the interruption, but you did seem a trifle outnumbered." Watson saw dazedly that her gaze lingered on him, but with no recognition in her beautiful blue eyes. "Not badly hurt, I hope?"

Will stared, recognising the first Mrs. Watson immediately. Beth had told him about her being alive again, but to see her in the flesh...! Of course, he remembered her very well: she'd always been kind to the Irregulars, much like Mrs. Hudson. There hadn't been a single lad amongst their band that was dry-eyed when they'd heard the news of her death. "Oi d-don't reckon s-so, mum."

One of the men jerked his head impatiently. "We'd better split; the gang'll be back soon enough."

Mary nodded, looking sadly down at the man that Will had stabbed, then back up at Watson, expression thoughtful. "Where are you headed?"

"Cent–" Watson began hoarsely, then cleared his throat and tried again. "Central London. If I may be so bold, what are all of you doing here?" What _was_ this band for whom his wife was risking her life and reputation?

He realised his error when Mary's eyes narrowed, answering coolly, "You might say we're an escort service, of sorts. We can take you as far as the Lambeth bridge, it's not much out of our way."

Watson shook his head, properly chastened by the set down. He wasn't her husband in this reality, he had no right... and now he knew how Sally must have felt as he walked away from her that first time. Hearing Mary's voice again, seeing her sweet face... knowing that she could never be his ever again, her not even _remembering_ him... was torture beyond anything Moriarty could have devised. "We don't want to inconvenience you." Despite his best efforts, his voice shook slightly. "Thank you very much for the rescue." Turning away from her was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do...

"...I'm sorry."

The quiver in Mary's voice pierced Watson's heart. It took a long moment for him to master himself before turning back – what he wouldn't give to be able to take her in his arms, comfort her, kiss her, make her remember... but surely that would be the very cruelest thing he could do, he had nothing to offer her, not even hope. If he and Holmes could ever set Time right again, Mary would once more be only a memory... His voice was thick as he did his best to answer gallantly, "It is I should apologise, my dear M– madam. We do not mean to cause you any further trouble."

Mary slowly nodded, her eyes glistening as she said softly, "You must have loved her very much."

Watson's breath caught in his throat – but then he was grateful for Mary thinking that she merely resembled someone he had lost; it allowed him to smile at her past his tears and answer, "I did. Sh-she... deserved more... better... but I did." He cleared his throat again, straightened as best he could, and bowed, wishing with all his heart that he might at least kiss her hand. "Good luck in all your endeavours, madam."

Mary managed to smile back. "And you, sir."

Watson held his breath as the group left, silently pleading for her to look back at him, one last time... but she didn't, and even as his heart broke, he understood that Mary was doing him a kindness by not turning, the last one she could. _Farewell, my love..._

Will moved over to stand beside Watson as the band disappeared, sensing that the poor man needed an anchor just now. "Railroaders," he murmured, misty-eyed himself but with a faint, proud smile.

Still staring at the spot where Mary had vanished, it took Watson several seconds to even realise that Will had spoken. "What?"

Well, it had taken Will long enough to make the connection, but it certainly fit Mary Watson to a tee. "Those people she's with, they're railroaders."

Watson shook his head in bemusement. "Who are railroaders?"

"George told me 'ow there's folks in America still 'elpin' slaves get free." Will's face darkened with his mood. "Ain't like that 'ere, though—we got the opposite problem. R'member 'ow they used to ship convicts to Australia and the like? All these extra people, the government's been tryin' to thin 'em out—" his tone turned sour—"startin' with anyone 'oo ain't 'British' enough." It was a good job the Irregulars had already been moved out of London; not all of them were what one might call _European_... He smirked. "Looks like yer..." He caught himself, reddening. "Looks like Mary's got a problem with that."

"Ah." Watson's face twisted, voice hoarse. "Yes, she would." Mary had unknowingly taken it on herself to clean up his mess... He cleared his throat again. "We should be going." It was high time for him to get on with what little _he_ could do, for now.

"Yeah," Will said quietly. He wished he could comfort Watson somehow, but what _could_ you say to a man after such a mad experience? There weren't any words in the world that could console the heart after something like that.

* * *

New Scotland Yard was as much of an eye opener for Watson as the city itself had been, crammed with uniformed men from every period in history. He could have sworn he even recognised one of the pikemen who had chased him and his friends out of the Globe... but the man didn't give him so much as a second glance, engrossed in tea and gossip with a Roman praetor. Watson had to hide a grin on spotting some familiar faces in the throng as well – it was comforting to know that Frozen Time alone hadn't the power to sway a man from his vocation.

The layout of the place hadn't changed, either, and after leaving Will sullenly sitting amid the mayhem that was the front office, Watson strode confidently and unhindered through the corridors to the Chief Inspector's door, knocking firmly.

There was an indistinct muttering, then the doctor's heart leapt as a familiar voice called, "Come in!"

Watson walked into the office and closed the door after him, trying hard not to smile too widely – he had to keep in mind that this wasn't exactly the same man he and Holmes had known. "Chief Inspector Lestrade?" Ironic that it had taken Frozen Time to get Lestrade the promotion he'd been so carefully avoiding all these years.

Geoffrey Lestrade looked up from the mountain range of paperwork atop his desk at his visitor. "Yes. And you are, sir?" At first glance, he would say that the man was an invalided soldier—clearly a soldier, the build and something indefinable in his features—but also very worn and down on his luck.

Watson slowly came forward to stand before the desk, suddenly feeling extremely weary. Despite Lestrade not knowing him, this was the safest he had felt since leaving Warwickshire, and as he instinctively relaxed, it was fast becoming clear how close he really was to collapse. Nevertheless, he straightened again, chin lifted, expression resolute – he could rest when this was over. "My name, Chief Inspector, is John Watson..." He'd decided that using rank or title would be unwise, since he was no longer on any official records; "and I have vital information concerning the murder of Mycroft Holmes."

Lestrade's eyes widened—few people had even known Mycroft Holmes at all and even fewer would have had any notion that the cause of his death was murder. It had all been hushed up very quickly, even before the investigation had come to a dead end... "Do you? Please sit down, Mr. Watson. Were you connected in any way with Mr. Holmes?"

Watson nodded, taking the offered seat gratefully. "I was acquainted with him –" face and voice turning grim, "and also with the man who shot him: Colonel Sebastian Moran." Dear God, it felt _satisfying_ to finally say that.

Lestrade frowned incredulously. "A colonel?! And how were you acquainted with _both_ these men?" When someone knew both the victim and the murderer in a political case like this, their story was bound to be interesting.

Watson steeled himself to answer calmly, although he felt sure his eyes were giving him away. "Through Mr. Holmes's younger brother, Sherlock." Poor Holmes – Watson knew from Nikola that his friend had only recently heard...

Lestrade arched an eyebrow. Here were hidden depths, and despite the fact that he had never heard of Mycroft Holmes having a brother, he was quite ready to believe the man. This Watson was clearly assured that he was speaking the truth. "I see," the Chief Inspector said slowly and pulled out his notebook. "Would you be so kind as to start from the beginning and give me all the details you can?"

Watson took a deep breath. "Sherlock Holmes and I have been... good friends... for a long time; his passion is detective work. We've both been working undercover on his brother's behalf, attempting to bring not only the Colonel to justice, but also the organisation for whom he works." That last part was technically true, even if none of them had known it when Holmes accepted the case.

Lestrade nodded as he scribbled in shorthand. The story was plausible enough; Mycroft Holmes oversaw numerous covert operations, some of them years in the doing. "What is this organisation? And, for that matter, where is the younger Mr. Holmes now?"

Watson looked at him gravely. "Have you ever heard of a Professor James Moriarty?" Although he suspected he already knew the answer – did the Professor even officially exist in this reality, either?

Lestrade frowned and shook his head. "No, I can't say that I have. Who is he, this professor?"

Watson shivered involuntarily, some of his recent memories still horribly vivid. "There are some who would call James Moriarty the Napoleon of Crime, Chief Inspector, but a _slightly_ more accurate description would be a monster in human form. The most evil, sadistic individual I have ever had the misfortune of meeting... and the current head of the Torchwood Institute."

Lestrade frowned heavily, uncertain of how to process that testimony. "I know of the Institute..." Only just, of course—Torchwood was the most carefully-guarded secret on British soil. "Why would they want Mr. Mycroft Holmes dead?"

Watson snorted. "Whatever you think Torchwood is doing, Chief Inspector, think again! The Institute is Moriarty's public image, giving him the freedom and resources to expand his criminal empire." He closed his eyes, this was the difficult part: the lie in the middle of the truth. "Unfortunately, just as Holmes and I were on the verge of a breakthrough, our cover was blown." Quietly, "Both of us mercifully escaped, although we... were forced to separate. And once our identities were known, Moriarty must have realised Mycroft was responsible for the operation."

"Good God," Lestrade breathed. That would certainly explain the damnable shroud of secrecy and lies around the Institute... He shook his head slowly. "Mr. Watson, despite your story sounding quite fantastic, I am inclined to believe you. But as a policeman, I cannot order an investigation on the basis of one man's word." He shrugged with his eyebrows and added wryly, "Well, unless he's nobility, at any rate. That is why private investigators such as yourself and your friend are hired. However... if you could give me any sort of proof at all...? Believe me, I would like nothing more than to bring in Mycroft Holmes's murderer. Bloody country's being going to hell ever since."

Watson nodded. "When your men examined the murder scene at Whitehall..." He took the flattened bullet from his pocket and placed it on the desk; "I imagine they found a bullet of the same type as this."

Lestrade's eyes widened in recognition. "They did, indeed. Might I ask how you acquired it?"

"Moran favours a rather unique weapon: an air-gun, commissioned especially by Moriarty, which was tailored to fire these soft revolver bullets." Watson's lips tightened. "This round was meant to silence the only eye witness to Mycroft's murder." He had no intention of repeating what Will had told him to anyone else.

Lestrade frowned uncertainly. "I take it that you cannot produce this witness."

Watson was deeply thankful Lestrade hadn't asked him the person's identity, but it still hurt like hell to have to look the man in the eye, not even knowing where his friends might be. "No, sir," he answered stiffly, "I'm afraid not."

Lestrade frowned gravely. "Very well, then. I can set one of our plainclothesmen to infiltrate Torchwood on suspicion of murder and kidnapping... however, this will be long work. I cannot guarantee any quick results. I don't suppose your friend will be back in touch with you any time soon? That would be a help."

Watson could only shrug helplessly. "I'm sorry, Inspector, I haven't the least idea." He smiled grimly. "Holmes can be maddeningly uncommunicative when he's working, especially if he thinks he might be placing someone else in danger by association. The last time something like this happened, I didn't hear from him for..." Watson hesitated, the idea of three years probably wouldn't mean anything to the Inspector at the moment. "Well, for a very long time." And he hated that, even after four years, the memory of his friend's deception still rankled.

"I see. I'm sorry." Lestrade considered for a moment—the man's story was hanging together only by the slimmest threads, but it was a lead on an important murder. That was more than they'd had at the time. "Where and how might I be able to reach you if I require your help any further?"

Watson smiled faintly. "I'm afraid I can't give you an official address, Chief Inspector, but you can contact me through an associate – he's waiting out front, in fact." Will had volunteered to stay behind in London when Watson went home; Watson suspected the lad's main motive was to avoid his share of Sally's wrath on returning.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? By all means, bring him in."

"At least..." Watson closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Oh, Lord..." He turned to face the door and raised his voice sternly. "Will." He really should have anticipated this.

The door cracked open, and a fair-haired street boy pushing twenty poked his head through. "Bli-mey, yew're gettin' t' be as bad as the Guv'nor."

Lestrade raised both eyebrows. "This is your associate?"

"The best scout in London, Chief Inspector," Watson smiled sincerely. "Will has been indispensable to Holmes and I many times –" There was a proud gleam in the doctor's eye; "and never more so than now."

The boy coloured slightly, and Lestrade thought perhaps there was more to him than the average street Arab after all. He sighed. "I'll take your word for it. Come in, lad, come in. It would seem we have a few things to discuss."

* * *

The baths were as heavenly as Beth had hoped, although the scalding heat had been painful before reaching the point of _blissful_. But she felt as though entire layers of sweat and grime had been peeled off her skin, and it was marvelous. She was back in their room now, where she and Sherlock had agreed to meet after cleaning up. Dressed in the one dress she'd actually brought along, she braided her hair as she waited, which had gotten quite a bit longer in the past nine months, humming absently.

Scrubbed, combed, and clean-shaven for the first time in two days, Holmes felt like a new man, returning to the hotel in a fresh set of clothes, hastily purchased before visiting the baths; he would rather go without bathing at all than have to wear soiled garments again afterwards! He knocked and entered their room, his old clothes bundled up under his arm. "There's a laundry downstairs, we can have..." Then he looked up and saw her... and his train of thought was abruptly derailed.

Beth looked up as he entered and had to bite back an appreciative smile—freshly bathed and groomed, he looked amazing. The next moment, she averted her gaze at his expression, blushing slightly. He didn't... that wasn't... _appreciation_... was it? _There was that last time you two slept in an inn—that wasn't exactly_ _ **nothing**_ _... Oh, shut up,_ she shot back. That particular voice had been giving her a lot of trouble lately. "Hi," she said shyly.

Holmes cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, you, ah... look... much improved." _Oh, very suave, that sounded so much better in your head, didn't it?_ "As I was saying, if you wish to have your other clothes laundered..."

She dropped her hands from her hair, where they'd been fidgeting uselessly for the past few seconds. "Yes. Yes, absolutely. Ah…" She stood and gathered up the bundle she'd brought back from the baths, grateful for the opportunity to look away. _'Much improved' is hardly a compliment, don't read anything into it..._

He nodded down at her shoulder when she joined him, glad for a change of subject. "How is your wound now?"

"Better. It felt good to finally clean it."

"Ah, excellent." _She cleans up well, too, doesn't she?_ _ **Quiet**_ _._ Silently cursing his treacherous inner voice, Holmes cleared his throat again. "Anyhow, er, shall we?"

She straightened and smiled brightly. "Yes, definitely. "

* * *

After leaving their clothes with a very overworked laundry staff, it then occurred to Holmes that they were going to have rather a long wait to get them back. He turned to Beth, struck by a sudden idea. "Ah, I don't suppose..."

She tilted her head. "What? "

"I, ah, thought, perhaps... you might like..." _Stupid, of course she'll say 'no', what on earth are you thinking?_ "...to see some more of the hotel? The museum exhibits are no longer here, but still, the architecture is quite..." _And now you're babbling, bravo._ "...impressive..." he faltered, face reddening.

Beth's eyes widened in surprise: coming from any other man, an invitation like that would almost certainly be actual _interest_ — _not that you would know, nobody ever asked you out in high school_... _Shut up_. And… this was _Sherlock_ … Despite her confusion, she managed a genuine smile. "I would like that very much. "

He smiled back hesitantly, wide-eyed himself. "Splendid." _Well, wonders will never cease... now, aren't you forgetting something?_ Blushing deeper, and still rather uncertain as to why he'd even suggested this instead of getting some more rest, Holmes offered her his arm.

She slipped her arm into his, looking up at him and wishing desperately that she could know what was going on inside his head.

"Well, then," he said lightly as they set off, "let us see what we can discover." _Please stop looking at me..._

Beth realised that she was staring and quickly looked away, blushing. Zed, what was wrong with her?

* * *

Thankfully, the rest of their business in Paris was concluded with relative ease. Food was the thing most in demand everywhere, of course, with prices to match, all other goods ludicrously cheap as a result. They were only down another two gems by the time they'd purchased everything Holmes thought essential for the next stage of the journey: trail rations, a basic first aid kit, a few extra items of winter clothing, and most importantly, a pair of blonde wigs, male and female. Different hair colours at alternate stops, plus Beth's versatility at changing gender, should make it even more difficult for their pursuers to track their movements.

Holmes had been relieved to learn from one of the other hotel guests that getting out of the city was far easier than getting in; and since the trains were still mostly operational, it seemed foolish not to take the swiftest means available of getting to the border. Unfortunately, the Gare de Lyon was packed when they arrived, half the city seeming to have the same idea. Holmes fought his way through the crush to consult one of the wall maps, frowning slightly – his new boots were a little tight, they needed wearing in.

Beth practically vibrated in place with nervous energy as she waited for him to make sense of the map; crowded places made her jittery. "Any luck?" she asked as she scanned the station for potential threats.

"Tch." Whoever planned these tracks had clearly been averse to drawing straight lines. "As far as I can tell, our best option is to go via Dijon, it's the most direct route."

She peered over his shoulder at the map. "Dijon…" She spotted it and shrugged. "Okey-dokey. "

"Now, what number is that..."

Beth turned back to continue scanning the crowd, then caught sight of something that made her blood freeze. Soldiers, French soldiers, moving through the station... only the uniforms were wrong... uniforms that would not be used until the next century, in the first modern war... _We're running out of time..._

"All right, we should..." Holmes turned back, then trailed off in alarm at Beth's expression. He followed her gaze, brow furrowed in confusion – nothing was standing out to him... well, any more than usual. "Beth, what is it?" he murmured.

"The soldiers," she said weakly. She hadn't yet seen any elements of the future come slipping into Frozen Time, so if that was starting to happen... God only knew how long it would be until Reality broke down completely.

Despite a second, longer look, Holmes still couldn't see anything particularly alarming, but it was clear that Beth had noticed something he hadn't. "What about them?"

"They're not… they're not from _this_ time… or any time up to now…" She shivered. "They're from the 1910s. "

Holmes stared. "The future?! But..." He shook his head dazedly – for the briefest moment, he'd wondered... but Time couldn't be repairing itself, or they'd be seeing _fewer_ anomalies.

"Reality must be… fracturing further... " _Reality will eventually implode_... but she had hoped they would have more time!

Holmes sat down heavily on a nearby bench, trying to regather his thoughts. "Well..." He took a deep breath. "I think it's safe to surmise that this is what Moriarty was anxious to prevent."

Beth nodded slowly. "If World War I is starting… I doubt he'll let England get involved..."

He looked at her uneasily. "But we were meant to, were we not?" He shook his head again. "If Bonaparte is bent on world conquest..." Although given that his infantry were already having to shoot rabbits, there seemed little chance of his actually succeeding. An army marched on its stomach – how often had Watson said that? Even so, the cost to Europe before such a campaign collapsed... He frowned at a sudden thought. "So what the devil happened to Wellington?"

Beth blinked. "I don't… actually know…" The last she'd heard of Wellington, he and Napoleon were still duking it out, but it had been a while and... Her eyes widened in realisation. "Wait, Napoleon vs. the _Kaiser_... That's like… a board game set-up… _Zed_ …" She shook her head dazedly. "Moriarty's going to have to do something soon or… there's not going to be anything _left_ outside of the British Isles."

Holmes closed his eyes, replying faintly, "That... might be the idea..." Or something horribly close to it.

Beth shuddered; she certainly wouldn't put it past the Professor. She sat down hard beside Sherlock, staring unseeingly at the floor. How long before more of the future bled in? The Soviets, the Nazis, the Holocaust, the atomic bomb... _oh, God, please help us_...

Holmes sat hunched over, his arms on his knees, hands clasping and unclasping automatically as he numbly watched the soldiers board their train. Would any of them be coming back? They all looked so... so _young_... Had Watson looked like that when he shipped out?

Beth looked up in time to see a young woman, not much older than she, tearfully embracing one of the soldiers, who turned and climbed aboard. The young woman—sweetheart? wife? sister?—covered her face, shoulders shaking. Similar scenes were happening alongside that train; some of the civilians were children saying goodbye to fathers and brothers, many for the last time... Learning about the First World War had never failed before to break Beth's heart, but watching it unfold before her eyes... knowing what awaited those men, so many of them hardly older than she was... trenches and gas and unmarked graves...

She cried as she watched, silently but freely.

Her face was making Holmes's chest hurt... What he wouldn't give to wake up and find this had all been one long, dreadful nightmare... or at the very least to find something comforting to say to Beth... or anything at all... and the fact that Beth was silent herself somehow made it worse. Not that he desired a lecture, of course – but why _had_ he escaped that all this time, why wasn't she telling him this was all his fault? He couldn't imagine that she didn't want to...

Beth slowly turned away from history and turned back to Sherlock, who looked absolutely miserable, and snaked an arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. She wasn't sure if she was seeking comfort or offering it to him. She wasn't sure it mattered. It was something she needed to do... it was something they both needed.

Although he flinched when she first touched him, he didn't pull away, simply turning his head to look wonderingly down at the top of hers. Why was she even still here? She couldn't possibly have the old infatuation she'd had at Baker Street, she knew him far too well for such romantic nonsense now. He wasn't about to urge her to leave, of course, but even so... he wished he knew whether her choosing to remain was gratifying or troubling. He suspected it was both.

* * *

By the time Beth and Sherlock were aboard their own train and leaving Paris, Beth had calmed and was willing to focus on something else to get her mind off of what she'd seen in the station. The sleeping compartment they'd gotten for the ride turned out to be just the thing. "This is awesome," she grinned. "I've never traveled in one of these before."

Holmes rolled his eyes – this was nothing new to him – but forbore to comment. "You'd prefer the top bunk, I suppose?"

She tilted her head and didn't quite meet his eyes, sheepish. "Not… necessarily… "

He shrugged. "It's all one to me." Which wasn't exactly true... When he and Watson had travelled like this, he'd always taken the top bunk in consideration of the doctor's shoulder; still, he preferred the lower, if only because it wasn't so far to fall if he rolled out.

Which was exactly what Beth was afraid of. "I'd kind of rather have the bottom?" she said in a small voice, colouring slightly.

"As you like." Holmes hoisted his bag onto the top bunk, electing to remain below for the moment.

She set her own bag on the lower bunk. "How long do you suppose it will take to get to Dijon?"

"Two to three hours, I should think. " Whatever that was worth, with things the way they were – and Holmes's internal clock had ceased to function long ago.

She nodded—that was certainly enough time for a power nap. "And then after that...?"

"Well, barring accidents, we should reach Jougne in another three – it's the last town before the Swiss border. " Which they'd have to leave on foot; there would be no more easy travelling after that until they crossed over.

She nodded slowly, thinking. "How are we going to cross the border? "

With a great deal more caution than they'd used so far... "That area's thickly forested, which will hopefully help us get past any border patrols. "

"Sounds like fun," she said wryly. She'd been wearing her wig and removed it now, unpinning her hair and sighing in relief. She began to massage her head; she'd had her hair tightly pinned beneath the wig, tighter than she was used to with her cap.

"Oh, indeed," Holmes answered dryly, watching with mild interest as she removed her disguise; "bearing in mind that any soldiers we encounter will have orders to shoot first and ask no questions at all..." He could have kicked himself as the words left his mouth – they still hadn't discussed what had happened during the rescue.

Beth frowned slightly, curious as to his sudden change in demeanour. "That's nothing I'm not used to…"

"Beth..." Holmes bit his lip, looking down at the floor. "You shouldn't blame yourself for what happened in the square. You did what you felt you had to..." And if it hadn't been for him, she would never have had to shoot.

Her eyes widened—okay, how was she supposed to answer that? Especially when he clearly was bothered by it and she wasn't, not really. She exhaled forcefully. "Wow, okay…"

She sank to the bed and ran a hand through her hair. "Um, I would have blamed myself if I'd actually gotten us killed—I mean, I _did_ …" She looked up at him frankly. "But I don't… regret… actually shooting that man," she said softly. "He was going to have his men fire into a crowd whose worst crime, currently, was grabbing at a chance to not be eating melted-down _candles_ for once." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I have no pity. _He_ certainly didn't have any."

He eyed her uncertainly, rather at a loss as to how to respond after all that – an apology seemed somewhat out of place now, but would thanking her be any different?

Beth lowered her gaze, feeling uneasy beneath his. Did he think less of her for that?

 _Well, it probably couldn't make things any worse._ "Beth..." he ventured softly, "whatever regrets either of us have over this affair – or not... I must confess, I was... gratified... to have your assistance." Despite all the dangers, it was... nice... having someone he trusted at his shoulder again...

Her eyes widened again, completely caught off-guard. "I-it was my pleasure," she said softly, shyly.

He gave her a stiff nod, feeling his cheeks growing warm. "Well, then... perhaps we'd better turn in, get what sleep we can." Separate beds again, thank God.

She nodded, then smiled when she noticed what he'd forgotten. "Don't forget to take the wig off. "

He was surprised into a huff of quiet laughter, giving her a sheepish grin as he unpinned it. "Ah, thank you."

She grinned back. "The colour kind of suits you, though. " His eyes were certainly light enough to pull it off, and he did look good as a blond, although maybe part of that was also the looser, less severe look of the wig. She'd already noticed that his natural hair looked very nice right now, without the pomade in it.

He shrugged, though not displeased by the observation. "I'll take your word for it. "

She echoed his shrug, still grinning. "Suits your name. "

"Please..." he groaned – he should have known she'd bring up that old chestnut sooner or later.

Her eyes danced, but her tone was innocent. "Don't worry, I still think your natural coloring looks best."

Holmes's eyebrows raised at that, responding without thinking, "That isn't much of a compliment."

She tilted her head, enjoying herself. "Oh, it totally is. I mean, if you're not a brunette, you can't pull off the whole Tall, Dark, and Handsome thing. "

Oh, she was teasing him, was she? He sighed, making a resigned face. "Well, two out of three isn't bad, I suppose..." She rolled her eyes and lobbed her wig at his chest. Smothering a grin, he caught it with ease, handing it back to her with a bow as dignified as any butler. "Your coiffure, milady. "

She couldn't help giggling as she accepted it. "Oh, what am I gonna do with you?"

...Was that a rhetorical question? "Given your propensity for the unexpected, I can only speculate."

She giggled again, a little self-consciously this time, and shook her head. "Well, then, we're in the same boat."

 _Or train carriage... Oh, give it a rest._ "How so?"

She shook her head again, rising to her feet. "I mean that we're both speculating on what I'm going to do with you, silly." As small as their compartment was, she ended up standing right in front of him just by taking an unconscious step forward... and realised that she was _right in front of him_... Oh gosh... no, she couldn't think about his lips... no matter that they were directly in front of her...

He hadn't been expecting her to stand up just then, had had no time to prepare himself for being that close to her, it had only ever happened once before... He supposed, vaguely, that he should put some more space back between them, but he couldn't quite remember how to move at the moment... Strange... how had he not noticed before how very blue her eyes were... deep and shining, like the waters of a mountain lake...

Her lips moved soundlessly, mercifully, since she would be stuttering if she had her voice. Her gaze flitted back and forth between his eyes and his lips, unable to move back... but also unable to move forward... She wanted to kiss him, more than she ever had in her life; she wanted to tell him how much she loved him—she was burning to... But he would either react with scorn—which she hated—or that helpless awkwardness of his... and she'd lose the little bit of closeness she had...

The movement of her lips captured his gaze; he suddenly had the oddest irrational impulse to still her mouth by touching his lips to hers, an impulse that grew stronger by the second... Almost unaware of what he was doing, he started to lean in... but just then, the air was pierced by the distant shriek of the train whistle, startling them both.

Trembling, she jerked back and dropped down to her bunk, not daring to look up, unable to speak.

Rudely returned to his senses, Holmes stumbled backwards; turned hastily towards the window to hide his flaming cheeks, too stunned by what he'd just tried to do – what he'd _wanted_ to do! – to even stammer out an apology.

Beth dazedly drew her feet up onto the bunk, ignoring the fact that she was still wearing her boots, and lay on her side, facing the wall. She'd been so agonisingly close... and she'd thrown away her one chance because she was too much of a coward...

Holmes gripped the window frame to still his shaking hands; finally, he managed to make himself turn and look at her... and his face turned redder still when he saw that she'd turned her back on him. _A good thing, too,_ his thoughts hissed viciously, _what could you possibly say that would make you any less of a bounder?_ For a long moment, he stood wondering dazedly if he should just go and throw himself off the train, or possibly under it... In the end, not knowing what else to do, he slunk up the ladder into his own bunk, insides writhing with confusion and remorse... and deep down, he still couldn't help wondering if it would have been any better than their last one...

* * *

 **Ria:** *frustrated noises* So close and yet so far... Poor Beth... and poor Watson! *hugs him* Mary was a last minute addition for this episode, but we just couldn't have only that one scene in the library, she insisted on helping our heroes a second time. With Sholto's wealth and little else to occupy her, it made sense that she'd still find ways to help those in need, even if it meant breaking the law... Maybe some faint recollection of her first life remains in her subconscious?

 **Sky:** Poor Mary, for that matter! As the Eleventh Doctor said, nothing is ever really forgotten... like Mycroft, I think she does know, yes, on some level that things aren't as they were meant to be. I think we were both crying, writing that scene. ...not to mention the mess _I_ was in the midst of writing out the almost-kiss. _Argh_. Stay tuned!


	9. Cracks in the Marble

**==Chapter 9==**

 **Cracks in the Marble**

" _Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his."_

– John Watson, A Scandal in Bohemia

Holmes had been lying awake since he went to bed, staring blindly at the ceiling, the rumble and clack of the train wheels the perfect backdrop to his whirling thoughts. Of all the boorish, brainless _oafs_... He'd tried to... to _kiss Beth_... what on earth had he been thinking?! Had he been thinking at all? _Well, it certainly wasn't with your head! How_ _ **could**_ _you be so stupid? She was just starting to like you again, and you have to go and ruin everything! You'll be lucky if she so much as speaks to you again!_

He tensed, hearing Beth beginning to stir. Oh dear God, she was _whimpering_ , breath quickening... She was dreaming... Was she... was she dreaming about him?

"No..." Her pleading moan made his heart ache as she continued to toss... but should he wake her? After what he'd done... if his face was the first thing she saw, what would _that_ do to her?

Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer, he had to do something. He climbed down and approached her bedside cautiously; she'd begun to sob in her sleep, continuing to toss, and the fear in her voice was a knife to his insides. Holding his breath, he sat on the edge of the bed beside her and touched her shoulder. "Beth?"

She jerked upright in an instant with a strangled cry, arms flailing in front of her, eyes wild and unseeing.

"Beth!" Holmes gripped her upper arms tightly, heedless of any blows. "Beth, wake up, _please_ , it's all right, you're safe!"

A familiar voice, full of concern, penetrated the fog in Beth's mind, and she stopped, staring. The figure holding her arms wasn't... wasn't Moran... "Sherlock…? "

He made himself look her in the face, eyes full of remorse to see the pain in hers. "I'm here, Beth," he said softly. _Please don't be afraid, I won't hurt you, I could never..._

She opened her mouth to speak, to be relieved, to be grateful it was _him_... but nearly doubled over instead, sobs wrenching their way from her throat. She covered her mouth, the dream still filling her mind, the dream that had mostly been memory. Oh, _God_ , would it ever _stop_...!

Aghast, Holmes could think of only one thing to do, since leaving her alone in this state was out of the question. Praying he wasn't going to upset her even more, he moved in closer and tentatively put his arms around her.

She instinctively straightened just enough to wrap her arms around him in turn, clinging to him, grateful beyond words—if she'd been capable of any—for an anchor against her storm.

 _Thank God..._ Not knowing what else to do, Holmes started to rock her, his hold still gentle; he felt sure she'd be pulling away any minute now, telling him to never come near her again...

Why was it that no matter how much time had passed, no matter how preoccupied she was with other things, Moran still wormed his way into her dreams? His mocking voice, his hungry eyes, his demanding hands... "I want him out of my head— _I want him out of my head!_ "

Holmes blinked in surprise, then paled as he realised: if she wasn't talking about him... "Oh, Beth..." he murmured, and kept rocking her, tightening his arms around her a little.

"Why…" She shuddered, scarcely conscious of what she was saying, though the storm was subsiding. She felt exhausted.

Remembering how Watson had soothed him at Los Alamos, he started to lightly rub her back in slow circles, murmuring in what he hoped was a calming tone, "It's all right, Beth... I'm right here... I've got you..." _Please don't cry..._

Trembling, she continued to shudder until her breath was hitching raggedly, dryly, the tears gone. She nestled further into his hold, resting her head on his chest. His arms felt so nice... _he_ felt so nice... and warm... and safe...

Gradually, he slowed the rocking; he wasn't trying to send her back to sleep, just soothe her enough that she could talk if she wished. _Ah, excuse_ _ **me**_ _, don't you have something to tell_ _ **her**_ _?_

"I'm s-sorry," she said hoarsely. "Didn't… didn't mean to… w-wake you… "

"Oh..." Holmes blushed. "Ah, no, you didn't, actually – I was, er, already awake..." He took a deep breath. "Beth... I... if I did... I mean, if what happened before..." _For God's sake, man, quit stammering and_ _ **say it!**_ "Beth, I must beg your pardon for... for my poor conduct earlier. I never meant to cause you such distress..."

She frowned up at him in confusion—poor conduct? What poor conduct? Why would he think... "Oh." When she'd gone prematurely to bed? Had he thought he'd done something wrong? "Oh, Sherlock..." Almost not knowing what she was doing, she reached slowly up to touch his face. "You didn't, really... promise..." How could she have been so thoughtless to just lie down without a word of explanation and let him think something was wrong?

She closed her eyes and lowered her hand, shuddering again. She wanted to tell him about Moran, but she couldn't seem to make herself start...

His eyes had half-closed at her touch, skin tingling... _no,_ _ **stop**_ _that, focus!_ He felt Beth's shudder as she lowered her hand, and the movement drew his gaze to the scar on her neck. "Beth, I... I don't wish to pry... but has this anything to do with... how Moran obtained your locket?"

 _Still the Great Detective_... Shivering, she nodded slowly, then gave a mirthless laugh that sounded slightly hysterical in her own ears. "It wasn't going to be the locket that he took, though, right? Said he was going to t-take… take my… heart…" She laughed again—definitely hysterical, yeah. "Only reason I'm still here's because he wanted… wanted to play first…" How was that for cruel irony?

Holmes turned paler by the second as he listened, feeling almost as ill as when Moriarty had first showed him the necklace. "...Dear God..."

Beth whimpered, caught between wanting to say more and wishing Sherlock would figure out the rest on his own.

He wrapped his arms back around her tightly, starting to rock her again. "Oh, Beth..." There was a lump in his throat. "Did... did he...?" He couldn't even finish the question.

She shuddered and shook her head. "I almost feel like... like he did," she whispered. "He was so close… Had me drugged and… pinned down… and he kept… kept ripping my clothes… and… and… k-kiss-kissing…" She began to sob again, unable to stop herself. "I couldn't stop him! He w-wouldn't s-stop! He… I… I was… my clothes… he… he was so… c-close…"

Holmes's nausea was rapidly being burned away by pure fury, jaw clenched tight; any doubts he might have had about how to deal with Moran if the man caught up with them had all vanished.

She calmed enough to finish: "Then the boys found us… and I passed out... "

Holmes let out the breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. _Thank God..._ "I'm _so_ sorry, Beth..." His chest ached as she nestled closer; he could only imagine how hard it had been for her just to share that memory. "You've been... so brave... Thank you for telling me."

"Mm," she said uncertainly, tilting her head back to look up at him. She wasn't brave at all; she'd just had a large support system to keep her going. Now she didn't even have that... but if Sherlock was willing to hold her like this, every now and then...

He met her gaze steadily, his own eyes still burning with anger. "Beth, you mustn't blame yourself for what happened. The only one responsible is Moran..." His voice turned grim as he remembered the gleam in the Colonel's eye the last time they'd spoken; "and trust me, my dear, the very next time our paths cross, he will answer for it."

She shivered at the controlled fury in his eyes, in his voice; she wasn't sure why it unsettled her, but it did. She bit her lip, then, heart pounding, leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. She still could never tell what was going on his head, but at least she seemed to mean _something_ to him after all...

His breath caught, blushing deeply and looking away, partly in confusion and partly to keep himself from returning the gesture... After everything that had happened, and with Beth in such a vulnerable state, he didn't dare. He cleared his throat. "Well... if you will excuse me... I should probably, ah..." He gestured awkwardly up at his own bunk.

She lowered her own gaze, blushing herself. "Yeah. Yeah, of course…" Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered her arms, wishing fervently she could have fallen back asleep in his.

What was the matter with him, why wasn't he getting up? He really shouldn't stay down here with her, that would be most inadvisable – unless... "Will you... will you be all right now? I mean, if you would prefer me to... to stay until you..."

Her eyes widened hopefully, but then: "I… don't know, I might… not… go back to sleep... I'm not sure I can..."

He nodded in understanding, saying gently but firmly, "Then I shall remain – on condition that you at least attempt to sleep."

After a shuddering breath, she managed a faint smile. _That's so... sweet..._ "I'll try."

He waited until she'd settled back down under the blankets and closed her eyes; then, remembering how it had helped to soothe her in the catacombs, he began to hum 'A La Claire Fontaine' again.

Beth smiled slightly at his voice and relaxed, feeling safe and warm and maybe even loved... _Wouldn't_ _it be so nice... to truly freeze Time right here... have this moment forever..._

"... _Il y a longtemps que t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai_..." Holmes suddenly realised with a shock that he wasn't merely humming the song's refrain, but quietly singing it: _I have loved you so long, never will I forget you..._ He looked closely at Beth, and was relieved to see from her steady breathing that she had already fallen asleep, her faint smile in complete contrast with the tear stains on her cheeks.

For a long moment, he hesitated... then cautiously leaned in and kissed her damp cheek, as light as a feather. Her skin was amazingly soft, far softer than he'd imagined, there was even still a faint scent of the lavender soap from the baths. _All right, you've kissed her – happy? Now let that be the end of it..._ "Sleep well, Beth," he breathed. _Idiot, you'd better hope she_ _ **didn't**_ _hear you!_ He rose slowly with a sigh and returned to his own bunk; sleep still remained elusive, however, thanks to the lingering scent of lavender and the taste of salt on his lips.

* * *

At Jougne, Beth and Sherlock bought snowshoes to contend with the deeper snow of the mountains between them and Switzerland. There were signs here and there that soldiers had passed through the town, and all was not well, but its natural beauty still shone through the ravages of Frozen Time. As the pair left Jougne, walking along the tracks, Beth mused that it was a bit of a comfort: the world was ending, but there was still beauty in spite of it. "That was a pretty town," she murmured aloud.

"Mm..." Holmes's hum of agreement was a trifle absent. Their proximity to the border was making him uneasy, and he wished they'd thought to buy snowshoes back in Paris. Purchasing them here was tantamount to announcing their travel plans to the entire district.

"Um… FYI, I would kind of like to get out of this dress," Beth said suddenly. "If anything happens, it's gonna get in the way. "

"Oh." Holmes coloured, coming back to the present. "Yes, of course. It's time we left the tracks, anyhow." The lines were starting to curve south, according to the compass, and they needed to keep heading southeast.

Beth nodded and waited a few minutes until they were into the woods. At that point, she threw off her coat, shivering, and began to take off her dress, working quickly. The Jura Mountains in the wintertime—she didn't want to be without a coat any longer than she had to be.

Holmes waited a few paces off while she changed, back turned as usual... but to his great chagrin, he found he was now having to resist the impulse to turn around early.

Beth watched him turn, shook her head, and smiled. "You know, I'm fully clothed beneath this dress. It's how I travel." She was literally stripping off feminine clothing to reveal the masculine clothing she traveled in; it wasn't as if she were actually dressing.

Holmes sighed, discomfort adding an acidic note to his voice: "Nevertheless, I pray you will indulge this one antiquated courtesy." _Because, naturally, you're not the_ _ **least**_ _bit interested in what's underneath all those layers... Shut up!_

Not at all put down by his tone, she grinned. "You have also seen me practically naked by Victorian standards via dealing with summer heat by 21st century standards." She'd been wearing tank tops and shorts that first week of school in 2093—everybody had. Septembers in Southwestern Michigan tended to be pretty hot.

And now he was immensely thankful that he still had his back to her, cheeks burning as he answered primly, "That's beside the point."

She sighed—would she ever win an argument with him? "No, Sherlock, that _is_ the point. It's not that I mind your turning away—it's just that it really is unnecessary on several levels. "

Holmes gritted his teeth. "As are all displays of civility, I suppose?" Dear God, who could fathom the female mind? Didn't Beth _want_ him to be nice to her?

She shot a Look at his back. _Zed, what's his problem?_ "Not that I was aware of." She tossed her dress into her bag and threw on a jacket before shrugging back into her overcoat.

He exhaled heavily, giving up. She was clearly never going to appreciate his efforts – she didn't even seem to understand why this was important to him. _Hm, and you do?_

She picked up her bag, "Ready," she said in a subdued tone. _Sorry_ , she almost said, and would have had she known exactly what she was apologising for in the first place... although she certainly hadn't meant to make him moody...

Tight-lipped, Holmes merely nodded, not trusting himself to respond civilly; besides, they were better off not conversing at the moment, given where they were. Getting his bearings with the compass again, he led the way through the trees, senses alert.

Beth stayed close, moving as quietly as possible, and kept her right hand on her revolver, just in case.

They slogged away steadily for a good couple of hours, all signs of civilization quickly left behind. The forest was eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the wind and their footsteps, although muffled somewhat by the snowshoes. Holmes reflected gloomily that although the lack of any fresh weather meant not having to shelter from sudden blizzards, it also ensured that their tracks would remain fresh for anyone to follow... Unluckily, that moment's inattention kept him from seeing the slight drop in front of him. Stepping out on thin air, he pitched forward and landed most ungracefully on his face.

Beth gasped and stumbled in surprise. "Sherlock, are you okay? " she said softly.

"Pfft." Holmes lifted his head and spat powder, sitting up with a sheepish grin as he brushed the crystals off his face. "I'm all right." One thing you could say about snow, it made for a softer landing.

Beth grinned back, relieved.

"Actually, this might be a good point to call a halt..." Holmes tensed as his eye was caught by something a few yards off to the north, which had been hidden before by some bushes – and from here it looked ominously human-shaped. "Down!" he mouthed, flattening himself back down in the crater he'd made.

She dropped instantly to the snow beside him. "What is it? " she whispered.

"I thought I saw someone..." Holmes carefully dug a trench in the snow to give himself a clear view, rather than lift his head.

Beth looked in that direction, and copied his actions, hoping it would turn out to be nothing.

A longer second look was enough to tell Holmes that, whoever it was, they were no threat to anyone any more. He exhaled heavily. "Beth, you might not want to see this."

She grimaced. "Why? "

"Whoever it is... they're not going anywhere."

"…oh," she breathed. She grimaced again, feeling a little sick at the thought of someone just having left a corpse out here.

He gripped her shoulder, saying gently, "Wait here, I'll be back in a minute." At the very least, it wouldn't hurt to find out if this had been murder or an accident.

"Okay." She had no intention of arguing this time.

Staying low, Holmes made his way over to the body. It was a man, dressed for travel, but missing anything of value, including his boots. Turning him over revealed that he'd been shot in the chest; no telling how long he'd been here, though, or who had shot him, patrol or fellow traveller. Still on all fours, he rejoined Beth.

She leaned up a little in the snow with an inquisitive look, feeling cold and wet already.

"Dead," he said quietly, "and whoever shot the man looted the body."

She shuddered—that seemed like something belonging in the slums of Whitechapel, not out here in the pristine grandeur of the Alps. "I really want to get back to civilization..."

Holmes smiled faintly in sympathy, the feeling was entirely mutual. He held out his hand, drawing her up next to him when she took it, and scoured the landscape ahead. "Most likely, the poor devil ran into a patrol. We'll have to take much more care from this point."

She shivered. "How long do you think it will take us to get past patrols?" she murmured.

"No idea." He looked down at himself critically, then scooped up a few more handfuls of snow and liberally dusted his clothes with the clinging white powder. "Ready?"

She copied him again and shrugged. "Guess so."

* * *

At last, the forest thinned and they were on a mountain slope overlooking a picturesque town, the architecture clearly Swiss rather than French. Vallorbe. It appeared to be faring better than Jougne, at least from a distance.

Eyes wide, Beth murmured, "We made it." She turned to Sherlock with a huge grin, eyes sparkling. "Can you believe it—we made it!"

Holmes couldn't help grinning back, Beth's smile was infectious, her shining eyes quite enchanting... then he realised he was staring again and hastily looked away, shaking the snow from his coat. "Well, shall we go down? We'll need to change clothes and get these ones dried before moving on." He reached into his pack for the blond wigs.

"Ohhh, I hate wearing the wig," Beth groaned. "What I wouldn't give for InstaDye." Hair dye technology had come a very long way since the Victorian Era, and Beth had even tried InstaDye herself once on Chloe's persuasion. It went in and came out just as easily, which was more than she could say for a wig that she practically had to staple to her scalp.

Holmes nodded in sympathy, not envying Beth all that hair. "You could leave yours for the next stop, if you wish." He put on his own wig with care, trying not to make it look too easy.

She pinned up her hair as he put on his wig, then carefully pinned her own on. _Oww_. "Should I put on the skirt or the dress?"

Suddenly, his good mood was evaporating. "The skirt," he sighed, "you were wearing the dress in Jougne." He turned his back again, waiting gloomily for the inevitable reaction.

She coloured as the light went out of his eyes, and he turned. "Okay..." Quickly and silently, she donned the skirt, beginning to feel ashamed of herself for having heckled him for his _courtesy_ , however misplaced. Why had she made such a big deal about it in the first place? "Done," she said softly, looking at the ground.

Holmes turned to look at her in astonishment – he was hardly going to complain about not getting scolded for once, but why her sudden change of heart? "...All right, then." Deciding he was better off not inquiring, he reshouldered his bag and set off towards the town.

Blushing again, she followed. "...um, Sherlock? Where... where do we go from here?" They'd made it to the safest country on the Continent, but now what?

"A question I have been pondering for some time," he answered wryly. "I thought perhaps we might head south, towards the Italian border. Since we didn't pass through any checkpoints, it should be simple enough to go completely off radar, so to speak." He wouldn't be averse to a slightly warmer climate, either.

Beth couldn't help smiling. "A bit of modern terminology there, niiice. "

He shook his head ruefully as he realised what he'd said – Frozen Time wasn't the only thing corrupted by the future, it seemed.

She gave a little laugh at his reaction. _Aww, poor thing._ "It's not _totally_ a bad thing. "

"In moderation, I suppose," he sighed; still, it was... pleasant, for once, to have made her laugh.

Her smile turned secretive and slightly guilty: if they ever made it back home and healed things, he'd have to deal with his Irregulars turning into the first modern boy band who could sing quite a _lot_ of indie rock.

Holmes looked at her curiously; he'd never seen her smile like that before... More and more, he was discovering that this girl... young woman was well equal to the rest of her sex in being impossible to fathom.

Beth exhaled. "South sounds good." She wouldn't argue with traveling in a climate that wouldn't freeze her nose off her face. "Near Italy sounds good. I hear it's actually pretty stable, despite all the Roman emperors being alive at once… or rather, most of them. I hear that Nero and Caligula were taken care of veeery quickly—and I guess that all the emperors defer to Julius Caesar's authority, go figure." She shrugged."He is literally the Jupiter of Roman royalty. "

 _Jupiter_... Holmes's heart seemed to stop as a blade of ice pierced his chest, robbing him of movement, of breath...

Beth saw his expression and realised what she just _said_. _"But Jupiter is descending today"._.. _Zed, zed, zed_... "Oh gosh… oh gosh, Sherlock, I didn't mean… I'm so sorry! "

He barely heard her, head spinning, reaching out blindly to steady himself. _Jupiter himself..._ _I expected no less, Sherlock... no,_ _ **stop**_ _it,_ _ **please**_ _..._

Scared now, she reached out and grabbed hold of his body, stumbling for a moment but steadying them both. "Sherlock? Sherlock, please, come on, it's okay… "

His shaking hand found her shoulder and gripped it tightly, drawing a deep, shuddering breath. _Breathe..._ _ **don't think**_ _... just breathe..._

She was shaken by how quickly and completely he collapsed—he _hadn't_ had time yet to actually deal with his brother's death. And it was looking now as though it would only hurt even more when he finally did. She shuddered but murmured soothingly, "Come on, come here…" She led him a few feet to a nearby tree and sat both of them down, letting him rest against it. Then she wound her arms around him and held him close, stroking his back the way he had hers.

He sat stiffly at first, folded in on himself, then gradually began to lean into her embrace. The lump in his throat felt twice as big as usual, but his burning eyes were dry... he couldn't cry... _he_ _couldn't_... not now...

After coming up with and discarding half a dozen ideas of what to say, she gave up and simply held him in silence, trying to infuse him with as much love and warmth as she could.

He rested his head against hers – propriety be damned, he was just grateful to have her near – and slowly, his shaking subsided, the tightness in his chest easing the tiniest bit.

On the eastern horizon, clouds were shifting, lines of dusky red parting... Soft, golden light peeked through the clouds, the forest around them turning rosy.

Beth's breath caught, chest aching in wonder. "Sherlock... look. It's _the sun_."

Holmes stared with her, speechless, feeling short of breath all over again. He'd sometimes dreamed of seeing the sun again, but he'd never expected to see it here...

She didn't try to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks. Coming east, she'd sometimes come closer to seeing the sunlight but never close enough before... After months in darkness, she was surprised to realise that she had almost forgotten what it looked like. "It's so… _beautiful_... "

 _Yes..._ Mesmerised, stirred by emotions he couldn't even name, Holmes's arm lifted to Beth's shoulders almost unconsciously. Arms around each other, they sat there together in silence for a long time, watching the sun stand still.

* * *

 **Sky:** Ouch. Poor kids—they've both got so much baggage to deal with. I love that last moment, though. And Sherlock was just so sweet in the first scene... *hearts for eyes*


	10. And When Is The Right Moment

**==Chapter 10==**

 **And When Is The Right Moment**

 _"The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole life fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly."_

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

Neither Beth nor Sherlock let go of the other's hand as they made their way down into Vallorbe, both undeniably shaken and needing the comfort. They grabbed a small bite to eat at an inn on the Orbe River, let their clothes dry, and listened to the latest news. It seemed that Kaiser Wilhelm II was indeed making moves on Napoleon's empire—Beth was reminded of the phrase _unstoppable force meets immovable object_.

They took up another train to head deeper into the country for the moment. As they settled in and the train pulled out of the station, Beth was irresistibly reminded of their last train ride, bad memories and good. She pushed them away and looked at Sherlock, studying him for a moment, then looked out the window at the passing Alpine scenery. _Should I press a little further now that those cracks in the marble are a little wider? Or would that be insensitive because of what just happened?_

 _Reality is still fracturing, now more than ever, and you have a responsibility to Sally, Kathy, the boys, the whole world... and so does he._ She sighed, took a deep breath, and broke the silence, though she kept watching the scenery. She couldn't meet his gaze; she felt as though she were betraying him somehow. His trust, perhaps. "What was wrong with Sally in the first place?" she murmured.

Holmes froze, wide-eyed – she wanted to talk about that, _now_? What the devil did she think it had to do with her? _Just possibly because Sally is her friend? ...Well, it's still none of her business!_ Things had been going so well between them, too, why did she have to go and spoil it?

Beth sighed softly and gathered up the nerve to face him. "I mean it. Sally. Why don't you like her—and don't tell me that you don't dislike her, because I _saw_ the way you looked at her. I don't think you've ever even said one word to her since the Doctor picked me up."

 _No... not since you left her alone in the library, confused and afraid..._ Holmes's jaw tightened, answering icily, "If there had been a need to converse with the woman, I would have done so."

"You didn't need to talk with me," Beth said softly. _Or go backstage to meet Jeremy, or tour me around the TARDIS, or even argue as long as we did in Torchwood before I told you about Mycroft..._

Holmes's eyes narrowed, perversely tempted to ask if she would prefer that he hadn't.

She gathered up her nerve again and pressed on stubbornly. "You must have thought _something_ was wrong with her—if you hadn't, wouldn't you have been happy for your best friend? Marriages are kind of supposed to be _good_ things."

"Not that I would know, of course," Holmes said caustically. As if he could ever have allowed himself such a distraction... _A_ _s if any female of your acquaintance was that desperate!_ He sighed. "As I told Watson, my dear, my sole objection was that he had perhaps attached himself to _Miss Sparrow_ a little too hastily."

Beth sighed in frustration. "Would you have liked them to be courting for months? A year? Would that have worked for you?" Losing friends, yeah, that wasn't fun, not in the slightest, but the way he'd handled it from start to the present had just been incredibly toxic for everyone concerned!

Needled past endurance by her tone, Holmes snapped unthinkingly, "Well, it would have been a damn sight better than the man throwing himself away on a..." He only just managed to bite back what he'd been about to say, glaring; he didn't know who he was angrier with, Beth or himself.

Her eyes flashed in anger. "A _what_? A child? Or something else?" She didn't want to know—she already knew what he was capable of calling a girl he was speaking with face-to-face. She didn't want to know what he might call someone who wasn't even there to defend herself. "I don't even want to know how a man falling quickly but deeply in love with a woman and marrying her constitutes as 'throwing himself away.' The thing is, I don't think the speed of it or anything about Sally really had anything to do with it." With a bit of effort, she softened her voice. "Must've been lonely in 221B the first time around."

He'd been about to respond, but her last words made him feel as if the breath had been knocked out of him. She still _dared_... As if Beth or anyone else who'd read those _damned_ accounts of Watson's could have the least idea...! "Don't be ridiculous."

"Losing your best friend," she said coolly, "even temporarily, is always lonely." First her big brother had moved out when she had still been little, and then Chloe... _Somebody_ seemed to have forgotten about her already. "And you'd do anything to get them back," Beth said quietly. No one—not her parents, not Geoff, not even Sally—would ever know about the things Beth had looked into after Chloe's death. Things to fix it, to bring her back. A last-ditch attempt with a spell when she didn't even believe in magic... and nothing happening. That was when she'd finally had to face the truth, and it had nearly broken her.

Holmes suddenly couldn't look her in the eye, wishing for the hundredth time that he could keep his face from changing colour. He might not have done _anything_ to prevent the match... _But if the TARDIS hadn't intervened?_ And he was fully aware that Watson would have been furious if he'd known what his so-called friend had actually done.

"I hated it," Beth continued quietly, "when my brother moved out—missed him like crazy. But at least he was still alive. At least John was still alive..." _Because someone in this compartment had a best friend who wasn't so lucky, Sherlock, come on_...

Holmes couldn't help wincing slightly – Watson being called 'John' by anyone, Sally especially, still sounded... wrong. He'd never even thought of the doctor by his first name while they were lodging together, Mary had been the only person of Holmes's acquaintance to ever call him that... and each time she had, Holmes had felt more and more as if Watson was becoming someone he didn't know anymore...

Beth sighed. She was obviously not getting through to him—despite her having talked about Chloe not that long ago, he was obviously not making the connection. She massaged her temples, frustration making her tongue sharper than she meant it to be. "Sherlock Holmes, you have to be _the_ most self-centred person I know. Are you even listening to me at all?"

Holmes gritted his teeth, irritated beyond words – _why_ wouldn't she just _leave him alone?_ "I should think the whole carriage is by now," he muttered sourly.

Beth saw red for a moment. _Calm down, don't snap back, come on, you can do it—but I'm not definitely not being that loud and he knows it!_ "Then I'll leave you and the whole carriage with one last thought and then shut up," she managed in her most saccharine tone. Then she dropped the sweetness and stood, intending to leave once she was done. "Things change. That's normal—that's _life_. You don't have to _like_ it, exactly, but you don't have to act like your life is over _because_ of it, either."

Her tone turned fiercer than she'd meant it to be, but she was sick of his... his... of all this mess. _You made yourself lose Watson, you idiot_. "And don't you _dare_ think for one second that I don't know what I'm talking about, either, because I had to keep on living when my best friend was _murdered_ , and I had known her all my life. It wasn't fair, and I hated it, and I hated that the world had to keep on going when she wasn't there anymore, but shutting myself up and pretending that I didn't care about anything anymore hurt a lot more than moving on."

Her outburst had taken Holmes completely aback. _You imbecile... Beth confided in you about her best friend not two days ago and you forgot_ _ **how**_ _soon after?_ And, damn it, anything he might have been about to say was now impossible – he couldn't think of a single reply that wouldn't sound unforgivably callous.

Well, maybe she'd finally gotten through to him, at least a bit. "You know, it's too bad," she said softly. "I think you would have really liked Sally if you'd given her a chance." Sally was deep and thoughtful and clever and well-read—under more normal circumstances, particularly ones that didn't involve Watson marrying, Beth didn't doubt that Sherlock would rather choose to get to know Sally than her. "You could have had two good friends, instead of losing the one you had." Turning to go, she opened the door.

Holmes's lip curled, although resisting the urge to snort; Sally hadn't even been a Holmesian. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if the woman had been a fangirl, he might have felt more confident that she wouldn't try to poison Watson against him... Still, what did it matter now? He and Watson would never see each other again anyhow, Beth might as well have saved her breath.

Beth looked back over her shoulder and sighed again— _should have quit while you were still ahead._ _Shut up, I can salvage this... uh... zed..._ "He wants to see you again, you know," she said softly. She might not be one hundred percent certain, but she didn't doubt Sally'd had much better luck on her end than Beth had had on hers up to now. "This time to apologise—because, yes, you weren't the only one at fault." Sherlock being a jerk certainly didn't excuse John giving him enough reason to believe he was right.

Holmes passed a hand over his face, sighing, his anger giving way to weariness. He felt sure she believed what she'd said, and her concern was touching, if irritating. Choosing not to say anything this time that they'd probably both regret, he looked away out of the window, hoping she'd get the message.

Okay, great, apparently Beth had just ruined things between them for nothing. "Fine, be that way," she muttered, angry with him and herself. She stepped out of the compartment and slammed the door shut.

 _Bra-_ _ **vo**_ _, just when you thought you couldn't make things any worse..._ Holmes flopped sideways onto the bed and buried his face in the pillow, letting his burning frustration loose in a long groan. The wretched woman was driving him mad, _why_ had he ever left Torchwood?!

* * *

According to the station map, the next stop along the line should have been the lakeside town of Montreux, but Holmes was still moping by himself in the compartment when the train came to a slow, shuddering halt – the engine had broken down. Given the choice between waiting indefinitely for repairs and continuing on foot, most of the passengers chose to gather their belongings and walk; Holmes and Beth were among them, although spending most of the remaining stretch studiously ignoring each other.

Holmes found himself drawn against his will into conversation with a chocolatier from Lausanne, who seemed to enjoy bemoaning the loss of his trade to anyone within earshot. The hapless detective did his best to tune the man out, reflecting dismally that even here, chocolate must now be worth its weight in gold.

Beth, on the other hand, fell in with another young woman, who was traveling with her brother to visit family in Martigny. Beth got the sense that this girl knew, on some level, that things had not always been as they were now, because she talked about how difficult life had been lately in a way that didn't suggest merely the deteriorating state of the world at large. But life, apparently, was getting worse even in Switzerland—their saving graces being their own fortified neutrality and their import arrangements with Rome for food.

Their trek continued along the edge of Lake Geneva, Montreux appearing slowly in the distance. As they drew nearer, faint strains of music floated over the still water; Beth and her companion, Zoe, paused.

"That sounds rather like a festival," said Zoe.

"It does," Beth agreed, and looked fully at Sherlock for the first time since they'd left the train.

That music... Holmes had halted abruptly as the sound reached him, staring towards the town, all but trembling, as the sweet, distant notes of a fiddle seeming to echo in his ears. It had been _so long_... so long since he'd last heard _any_ kind of music, he couldn't even remember... and he couldn't ask to play, either, it would quite ruin their disguise...

Beth's chest ached as she realised what he was reacting to; she couldn't even imagine how long it must have been since he'd played, or what that sort of withdrawal must have been like for him. She gave her companion an apologetic look and moved over to Sherlock, taking his hand and squeezing it gently.

He squeezed back convulsively, then realised how tight his grip actually was, easing up on her with a sheepish look.

"Hey, it's okay," she murmured soothingly.

He smiled at her gratefully, feeling almost ridiculously glad that she wasn't holding his attitude during their last 'discussion' against him any more _. Although you'd rather be holding more than just her hand right now._ Holmes was suddenly thankful that they were travelling in company, preventing him from doing anything rash; he _really_ oughtn't to be this comfortable with the thought of Beth in his arms...

* * *

When they reached Montreux, large circles of colourfully-clad people and individual couples danced on the village green, and children played around the bonfires. The older folks sat around the fires and tended the food, content to be warm and watch the festivities.

Beth smiled as she watched – she'd been to plenty of festivals before but certainly nothing ever quite like this. "I wonder what they're celebrating. I would've thought it was kind of the wrong time of year for a festival..."

Holmes glanced at her, amused. "You haven't noticed anything different recently?"

"Well, there's the sun… but I would have thought they've been… um… exposed to it? All this time? "

"I would have thought we still weren't far enough east..." Holmes shook his head; he wasn't really certain of _anything_ anymore, least of all how Time was behaving and why.

"Mm..." She brightened, turning her most winning smile upon him, hopeful. "Wanna dance? "

 _...Don't be stupid, you know you can't, you're trying not to attract attention, remember? Anyway, when was the last time_ _ **you**_ _went country dancing, do you really want to make an even bigger fool of yourself in front of her?_ Holmes sighed inwardly, and shook his head at Beth. "Thank you, no. I do not dance."

Well, it was no less than she'd figured— _but you really, really hoped, you idiot, and you know better_. Her smiled had faded, but she quickly forced another, not wanting to make him feel bad. "Right. Okay." She looked away quickly, gaze settling on the dance again. What she wouldn't give to be able to join... she'd never gotten the chance to dance before...

Holmes cleared his throat, her obvious disappointment prompting him to venture, "There is no reason why you should not participate, however." The train likely wouldn't arrive for ages yet, Beth might as well occupy herself while they waited.

"Oh, no," she said quickly, and blushed. "I actually wouldn't have the faintest idea of what I'd be doing." It wasn't as if she'd actually ever danced herself, and could she dance with a complete stranger if she tried? _No one you know has ever wanted to dance with you—why would a stranger? You're not worth it—_ _ **Shut up**_.

Looking around at the nearest bystanders, Holmes noticed an awkward-looking youth of approximately Beth's age, also partnerless and gazing wistfully at the dancing. Perfect _._ "My dear, that young man there keeps glancing in your direction every few seconds – I feel sure he would be delighted to instruct you."

Beth glanced where Sherlock had indicated and gave a slight laugh, shaking her head. "I really doubt it." Literally no one had ever been the least bit interested in her in that way before, with probably the sole exception of Tom Johnstone... _And even he never actually_ _ **said**_ _anything. Why would your luck change now? Face it: the only men interested in you are men like Moran. ...stop it._ Turning away so that Sherlock wouldn't see her face, she decided to head off away from the dancing; maybe she could at least get a decent bite to eat.

Holmes sighed as he watched Beth walk away, he wished he could have said yes... then he caught the youth's eye and strolled over for a quiet word. The lad stared at Holmes as he approached, confusion quickly turning to disbelief; then his gaze shifted past Holmes, expression becoming disappointed but resigned, shaking his head at the detective.

Mystified, Holmes turned to follow the youth's gaze... and his mouth fell open at the sight of Beth being led towards the dancing by someone else entirely. She'd... found herself a partner... Well, good... Good, he could finally stop worrying... He hoped she'd enjoy herself... She certainly looked as if she was...

 _Without you._

* * *

 **Sky:** Ho boy. Sherlock, if you'd quit being difficult, you might be happier—it's worth a shot. :P There's a bit of backstory as to why Beth has never danced before, and that'll probably crop up at some point in the future. All I'll say for now is this: remember what she used to do at school? She'd have a bit of a reputation for that...

 **Ria:** And yes, there is a lot more to the end of 'The Sign of the Four' in this universe than we're telling – yet!


	11. Because I Know No Other Way

**==Chapter 11==**

 **Because I Know No Other Way**

 _I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun._

– Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

Holmes remained at the edge of the crowd for a time, but soon he could take no more and stalked away towards the lake. Forced to halt at the water's edge, he stood there uncertainly, wondering which direction to go, if any; and he could still see Beth in front of him, smiling, laughing, twirling in the arms of seemingly every eligible young man in the district...

Beth felt as though she were flying, her feet having hardly touched the ground for some time now. She'd always thought that folk dancing would be fun, but she'd never had the chance to do it before and it was _wonderful_. And so were the boys—the copper-haired boy who'd first asked her to dance with him had had the most adorable crooked smile as he'd flirted with her while dancing. She could hardly believe that he or any of the boys she'd danced with since truly wanted to dance with her, but she wasn't about to argue. It was one of the most amazing experiences of her life.

Still... after a while, she began to feel tired and a bit... off-kilter... without Sherlock by her side. With each other being all they really had for who knew how long by now, she at least had come to depend on his presence. _Necessary to your life, is he now?_ _ **That'll**_ _end well_. She sighed and excused herself from her current partner, Luc, a boy who reminded her strongly of Will. He let her go regretfully but didn't try to make her stay; she appreciated that.

But after a couple of minutes of wandering around the green, she couldn't find Sherlock _. All right, keep calm, he's gotta be around here somewhere; he probably just wandered off_. At last, she caught sight of a solitary figure beside the lake, catching the light of the bonfires against the dark water. She sighed, forcing her rapidly beating heart to calm. It could be anyone from this distance, but it was Sherlock, she knew. She walked towards the lake, limping slightly on feet sore from trekking and dancing, and called out once she got close. "Hey, you know there's free food?"

Beth's call made him start, suddenly feeling strangely guilty at being found down here. "I am aware, yes," he said, more stiffly than he'd intended – and why was she following him, anyhow, couldn't he go for a walk on his own any more?

"C'mon, Sherlock," she said gently, "what's wrong?"

Wrong? Good heavens, what a question, why should anything be wrong? Everything was just _perfect_... "Nothing at all, I am simply not hungry at the moment."

She sighed. "You know that's not what I'm talking about. You're doing your moody thing again." She threw out her arms and clapped them against her sides in an elaborate shrug. "So what's wrong?"

Dear God, would the woman never desist? "Nothing whatsoever," he repeated, adding tersely, "besides having to endure you playing mother hen."

She flinched back, stunned speechless. It took her several long moments to decide what to say, with so many responses whirling through her brain, most of them hurt and angry. "The moment you stop _needing_ one is the moment I'll stop _playing_ one."

Kind of her! "Thank you, my dear, your confidence is truly inspiring."

She gave him a look of disgust, sick of these attitudes of his. Why couldn't he just let people help him? "Why do I bother?" She turned on her heel to walk away—though where to, exactly, she wasn't sure; she was hardly in the mood for festivities anymore.

The guilty pang Holmes felt at the weariness in her voice only served to fan the flames of his temper, and he snapped without thinking, "Yes, why do you?"

She whirled back around, eyes burning, chest tight. "Zed if I know! Heaven knows my life would be a lot less complicated if I didn't!"

He flinched, stung. "Fine, leave, then!" No one was forcing her to stay, she could walk away any time she wanted. "Go back to London, or Rosewood, or... or Newhaven, or wherever else you think you'd be better off!"

Her eyes widened in shock—what had gotten _into_ him? "Why the zed would I go back to Newhaven?!"

Holmes's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Well, the life of a smuggler's wife would surely be a lot less _complicated_ than a detective's nursemaid!"

She laughed incredulously. "Right, and just who would I be married to, exactly — Johnstone?"

Well, was there anybody else whose advances she'd appreciate? "He was all but going down on one knee at Dieppe! Just don't expect a ring, that's probably beyond his means with a girl in every port!"

She recoiled at the venom in his voice. "…I think," she said dazedly, "I wouldn't care… as long as he actually _cared_..." Did he think she was stupid? That she didn't know how likely it was that someone like Johnstone would have more than one lover? _Maybe he's holding you to a higher standard._ _...well, I guess I just have to disappoint him. Again_.

He stared at her, then shook his head, feeling strangely sick. "...I don't believe you." Beth couldn't... she would never... would she? Could she truly reconcile herself to such an existence, living as one of a... a smuggler's harem?

The look on his face confused her; now more than ever she just could not figure out what he was thinking. "It would be _something_ ," she said wearily. If Johnstone actually liked her that much... maybe she could live with that. "Might not be the greatest future, but it would _be_ one—and that's more than I've had in a long time."

Holmes closed his eyes, feeling sicker than ever. He should have known she wouldn't really want to stay... not with him. _Well, can you blame her? After everything she told you, with the way you've acted?_ "Well, then..." he said slowly, faintly, "I suppose... I should wish you happy..." He started to turn away.

Beth's eyes widened again— _what on earth...?!_ " _Why?_ I'm not going anywhere!"

He turned back to face her, insides knotted in hurt and confusion. "Why not?" He didn't need or desire her pity – if she wanted to go, she should go! "You've made it all too clear where you'd prefer to be, and it isn't with me, _so why are you still here?_ "

She stared at his outburst, feeling one of her own coming on. " _Because I_ _ **love**_ _you, you idiot!"_

He stared right back, turning white as the words sank in... then took a trembling step back, shaking his head, voice hoarse. "No..." Why... why would Beth mock him like this? Had he treated her so terribly that she felt compelled to respond in kind?

Already pale, that one word stabbed her to the heart. She'd finally said it... and he... he didn't even... But for her own sake, she took a deep breath and continued softly, "I love you. I have loved you... my entire life... and nothing you've done has ever changed that... And nothing you can do ever will."

Holmes's gaze had turned wary as she continued, barely able to process what she was saying. It couldn't be true... it couldn't... _she_ couldn't... _And if she did?_ That whispering thought was somehow far more terrifying than any of the dangers they'd faced together... _and she's stayed at your side through all of them, her hand in yours, never turning away... She's faced her deepest fears, faced a firing squad, she's been shot, she's_ _ **killed**_ _for you... Would any woman go through all that if she merely_ _ **liked**_ _you?_ "You... love me..."

He wasn't turning away. She approached him slowly, carefully, not sure that if she made one wrong move he _wouldn't_ bolt like a skittish horse. "More than anything..."

He barely resisted the urge to take another step back, fear and longing warring together in his breast. "If... if that is true... then why..." He could hardly bring himself to ask, but he had to know; "why did you tell me that... that you'd be prepared..." His face twisted as her earlier words echoed in his ears, the ache in her voice... "to sully yourself with a man-about-town like _Johnstone_... all for the sake of a roof over your head?"

Beth flinched and closed her eyes, unable to bear the pain in his, and shook her head. "It's not about _security_." She opened her eyes again as she tried to pull her thoughts together. "If... if I thought... that someone I liked... cared about me like that... if it meant that I wouldn't... always be... alone..." Her face twisted, not knowing how to explain the mess that was her own heart. "I don't know!"

"And in all the time I have known you, Beth... you have never said anything to me that you didn't mean. Can you blame me now for not knowing what to believe?" He stared down at the ground, voice turning bitter. "But neither can I blame you... for wanting... _needing_... more than this..." Even compared to Johnstone, what did a hunted man like him have to offer her?

He did... he _did_ feel something for her... Heart hammering (and somehow, also, singing), she took one step forward so that she was right in front of him, and this time, she was going to do what she should have had the courage to try on the train. She slipped her fingers under his chin, lifting it gently, her eyes locked on his, his afraid, hers full of love, and leaned up, pressing her lips to his. She kissed him longingly, passionately, electricity sparking through her.

After a long, blissful moment, she forced herself to pull back. If the gesture could not convince him of her sincerity, she didn't think anything would, and if he felt about her the way she hoped he did, he needed to take his own leap of faith.

* * *

Holmes's pulse was thundering as she made him look up, filled with terror and yearning at what he knew she was about to do, he couldn't have pulled away if he'd wanted to. His eyes fluttered closed as their lips met, sweet fire suddenly coursing through him... but soon, all too soon, she'd pulled back, leaving him lightheaded and breathless, opening his eyes to gaze at her in wonder. Thoughts scattered to the freezing wind, he said the first thing that came into his head, the corners of his mouth curling unbidden as he breathed, "I... could have sworn you promised... to warn me before doing that..." _Not that you're complaining..._

A cautious hope lit her eyes. "I did... warn you..."

He gave a huff of silent laughter, murmuring wryly, "Yes... yes, you did." What better warning was there than 'I love you'? _Speaking of warnings..._ Hands shaking, he reached up to frame her face. "And Beth...?" he whispered.

His hands stole the breath right out of her. _Tell me you love me... please..._ "Yes?" she whispered back.

His smile was tentative, his heart in his eyes. "If you will not think it... terribly forward of me..." _After_ _ **that**_ _kiss?! What are you worried she'll do, slap you? Shut up._ "...I should like very much... to return the gesture..."

She looked at him in wonder, scarcely believing that this wasn't a dream, and nodded slowly. Still shaking a little, he slowly leaned in and touched his lips gently to hers. Hardly daring to believe she wasn't dreaming, Beth kissed him softly back, one hand rising to rest on the back of his neck and the other to rest on his shoulder.

Her lips were as warm as Holmes remembered from their very first kiss, warm and soft as her cheek, her breath fluttering on his skin, light as a moth's wing... He wrapped his arms around her as the ache within him grew, clasping her to him tightly. Dear heaven, _why_ had he not done this with her sooner? She was... intoxicating...

Beth arched up in his hold, drunk on the feeling of his arms around her, of his lips moving against her own. She lifted her hand to his head, winding her fingers through his soft dark hair, something she'd been wanting to do for a very long time.

A soft moan escaped him, Beth's touch was making his scalp tingle... _oh God, more,_ _ **please**_...

His moan seemed to set her blood on fire—she wanted to hear it again... She was beginning to feel lightheaded, but she didn't want to stop. She didn't ever want to stop...

...the heady sweetness of her mouth... soft, supple curves pressed against him... _You_ _ **fool**_ _, what are you doing?!_ Holmes realised with a shock that his hands had started to _roam her back_ , scandalously near her waist, and forced himself to break off, breathing hard, trembling. Oh, God... what had he done?!

Beth was as breathless as he was, her eyes shining with wonder. _So that's what it's like_...

"F-forgive me, Beth..." Holmes managed to stammer out, cheeks rapidly turning crimson. "I-I shouldn't have..."

Smiling, she touched his cheek. "Yes, you should have."

He flinched at her touch, though he couldn't pull away from it. "No..." he whispered, looking down again in shame. "This was wrong... _I_ was wrong..." He forced himself to look back up and meet her eyes. "Beth, if you truly do love me... then you should leave, now, before it's too late."

She stared at him in horror. _What's gotten into him now?! What does he mean 'too late'?!_ "No. I won't. "

"And if you stayed, Beth, what then? How long before we..." Holmes's face twisted in self-loathing at his own weakness – he would still like nothing better than to go back to kissing her breathless... Turning from her, he stumbled away a few steps, desperately needing to put some space between them before he lost all semblance of self control. Even if he did love her... _are you planning to court her? Wed her? What can you possibly give her? A home, a future, security, anything?_ And if this was merely base desire... what made him any less of a danger to her virtue than Moran?

Her eyes started to fill, voice thickening. "Before… before what? I can't… I can't leave you. I can't. I couldn't…" Her voice broke. " _Why?_ "

Holmes's fists clenched, voice low in a vain attempt to keep it steady as he answered, "Because I have already done so much to hurt you... and I will not ruin you as well."

Beth's eyes went round. How was she even supposed to respond to that? _At least you know now that he's as crazy about you as you are about him._ Well, yes, but how the zed was she supposed to deal with that?

"Beth, _please_..." he whispered. _Please just go, I can't do this, I_ _ **can't**_ _..._

She didn't hold back her tears as they came. There was just one solution that came to her, terrifying and life-changing though it was. But if he truly loved her... "Will you marry me?"

He whirled back around to stare at her, completely thunderstruck. She _couldn't_ be serious!

"Because I refuse to leave you."

"Beth..." Holmes shook his head dazedly, heart aching at the sight of the tears streaming down Beth's cheeks; he didn't know whether her offer was touching, amusing or appalling.

She gave a slight laugh past her tears. "...so you're going to have to do something about that."

Holmes snorted, amusement finally winning by a hair, exasperation a close second. "Are you aware, my dear, that this is tantamount to emotional blackmail? I cannot propose marriage merely to... to salve my conscience over the possibility of stealing your virtue!"

 _Stealing_? As if he could _force_ it from her? She'd like to see even Moran try when she wasn't at a drugged disadvantage. She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin. "I think that _I_ just proposed, and I think that I am quite capable of handling my own _virtue_ , Sherlock Holmes."

A huff of despairing laughter escaped him. "Beth, this is madness! Do you... do you even _want_ to marry me?" Even if she hadn't asked solely out of pity, what kind of a life would that be for her? What kind of a husband did she think he'd make, for that matter?

She groaned. "Oh, _God_!" Did he think she took marriage lightly? That she would ask something like that without meaning it with all her heart? "No. No, Sherlock, I told you I love you, kissed you, and proposed to you without the slightest sincerity whatsoever!"

"Well, thank God for that!" Holmes snapped, all patience suddenly exhausted, and stalked back towards her – with what intention he wasn't sure, except perhaps to shake some sense into the wretched woman. "Because I most certainly would not wish to bind myself for life to the most abominably stubborn, exasperating female I have _ever_ had the misfortune to meet...!"

She watched him uncertainly at first, then with a small smile that quickly grew, hearing the love in his voice with dizzying clarity. As he finished, she reached out and pulled his head down to kiss him, both hands resting on the back of his head.

Caught completely off guard, Holmes's first impulse to pull back rapidly melted away, his hands unconsciously coming to rest on her waist. Dear heaven, her mouth... cocaine had never been half as addictive...

Eyes sparkling, she broke off the kiss long enough to murmur against his lips, "You'd have to make an _honest_ woman of me." It was funny, really—he was a detective, and she had broken just about every law there was.

Holmes sighed, unable to keep from smiling, despite his inner turmoil. Maddening, infuriating woman... what _would_ he do without her? And if he was entirely honest with himself... he didn't even want to find out, having her near had become as essential to him as drawing breath. After a long moment, he murmured back tenderly, "Well... if I must..."

She smiled radiantly and kissed him again, softly, slowly, cherishing the touch and taste of his lips.

He kissed her back warmly, willingly becoming lost in the moment, only reluctantly pulling back when a new thought occurred: "Ah, you do realise we can't have an official ceremony? At the very least, we'd need to give the priest our real names..." He didn't even have a ring to give her.

She hesitated, a wild thought occurring to her—officials made marriages recognised by the state... "No… Sherlock… we don't… _have_ to have an official..."

What was she...? "Oh." Well, he knew of several folk traditions in that regard from his part of the world, although he doubted she was considering any of those. "What did you have in mind?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "Nothing much—that... kind of thing... isn't even recognized in my state as valid. I just… I just can't help but think that the vows… are enough. Nothing else matters—nothing else should matter."

Holmes nodded slowly – he'd never appreciated all the trappings of modern weddings, either. _Good God... you're actually going through with this, aren't you?_ Trying to ignore both his incredulous inner voice and the rapidly growing knot in his stomach, he gave Beth a shaky grin. "You're certain you wouldn't like me to find a broomstick?"

Beth burst out laughing... and found that she couldn't quite stop. Too much tension had built up in her, and it had to be released.

Oh dear God, what had he done now?! Holmes wrapped his arms around her again tightly, rubbing her back like he had on the train. "It's all right, Beth," he murmured, barely even aware of what he was saying, "I've got you, love... just breathe..."

Her breath caught at the word "love." _He said it_... Holding him tightly, she began to cry even as she laughed.

Holmes kept rubbing her back in slow, gentle circles, at a loss for anything else to do, heart breaking at the sound of her tears. He just couldn't do anything right, could he? Would it always be like this, wounding her no matter how hard he tried not to?

After a couple of minutes, she calmed and rested her head on his shoulder, exhausted, breath hitching. He lifted his hand from her back to her hair, stroking it; and he hadn't realised until this moment just how much he'd been wanting to do that very thing. "I'm sorry, Beth."

She wasn't sure what he was apologising for, but his fingers in her hair made cognitive thought difficult, anyway. It was so... nice... "I forgive you," she whispered.

He turned his head and kissed her hair – dear heaven, it smelled wonderful – then took a deep breath. "And since, even after everything I have done to hurt you, you are still brave enough, or quite possibly mad enough, to want me for a husband..." He smiled solemnly but tenderly, eyes twinkling – he would never understand just what she saw in him... but perhaps one day he might learn not to question it. "I promise that I will do everything in my power to keep you from regretting this serious lapse of judgement."

She looked up, red-rimmed eyes aglow. _Did he just say his vows? I think he did_. She couldn't speak for a moment just for sheer awe—how was this actually happening? "I guess," she murmured, "I should promise… to never let _you_ regret this…" She smiled gently. "And to never, ever stop playing nursemaid…" She raised a hand to cup his cheek, stroking it with her thumb. "…for all Time…"

He leaned into her touch, eyes glistening as he murmured, "I... I love you, Beth..." _Well, glory be... it only took you_ _ **how**_ _long to say it? Hush._

She started to cry again, silently, heart soaring. _He actually said it this time._ She smiled solemnly past her tears, heart too full to speak.

Holmes's heart was still racing at the sheer enormity of what had just happened: _Beth_ had proposed, he had _accepted_... God help them, they really were a couple now, for better or for worse... but with the realisation that he truly did love this woman came the firm conviction that he wouldn't want it any other way. He lifted a hand to Beth's cheek, caressing it, then leaned back in and reverently kissed his bride.

* * *

 **Ria:** *sigh* Typical Sherlock... can't do anything the normal way, can he? 1) Kiss the girl; 2) marry her; 3) _finally_ get around to actually saying 'I love you'. =D

 **Sky:** Oh my gosh, this last scene was _so_ satisfying to finally write, both as a script and as a narrative! Of course, you know that this new development will cause more problems in their future, but for now, let them have their happy moment. They've needed it desperately.

Also, did anybody actually think that we would go this far? Marrying them? Let us know in the reviews! ;) And as you may have already guessed, next installment is going to be very much M-rated, so for those who aren't into that kind of thing, we'll be posting up chapters 12 and 13 together.

Oh yes, and happy belated Thanksgiving, everyone! Hope it was a good one.


	12. Just The Way You Look Tonight

**Authors' Note:** Those who didn't get the memo from last chapter, this update is all about the wedding night. If you're not into M-rated material, head over to the next chapter, which we've posted up at the same time.

 **==Chapter 12==**

 **Just The Way You Look Tonight**

 _I crave you in the most innocent way. I crave to gaze into your eyes until I have discovered every inch of your soul and witnessed beauty in its rawest form._

– J. Greenaway

 _(Chapter rating: S)_

As they approached their room for the night, hand in hand, Sherlock turned to Beth. "One moment, my dear." He kissed her… and then she was no longer on her feet, because he was sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to the door.

She gasped, clinging to him, lightheaded but giggling softly. "Look who's surprising who now?"

He smiled impishly, his eyes bright and promising more to come. "Well, it would have been more surprising if you carried me, but I don't hear you complaining."

She echoed his smile, quite happy where she was, his arms supporting her and her arms around his neck. "And I'm not about to, either."

He stopped at the door. "Would you mind, love?" Her heart thrilled to hear him call her _love_ —she was still not fully convinced that this _wasn't_ just a dream and she would wake up to him still trying to keep his distance and maybe not loving her after all. "I'm afraid my hands are somewhat full at the moment."

She giggled at that and reached over to open the door, which swung open onto a comfortable, firelit room. Wow. It hadn't even been very long since they left England, and they had only just told each other they loved each other. And now they were married and about to have their _wedding night_ …

But she was ready. She had loved this man her whole life. This was what she'd wanted, more than anything else in the world. She looked back up at him and smiled solemnly but lovingly.

He smiled back warmly—an expression that made her heart ache with joy—and carried her over the threshold.

"I love you," she murmured. Just saying it gave her thrills, having kept it locked up inside of her for so long.

He set her down on her feet, his arms still around her. "I love you, too, Beth."

She smiled radiantly.

He gazed at her… dared she think _adoringly_? She did. "You are so beautiful," he murmured.

She blushed hard, averting her gaze but still smiling. "And you… you're gorgeous…"

Blushing at that himself, he leaned in, eyes softer than she had ever seen before, and touched his lips to hers, kissing her gently. She kissed him softly back, but couldn't help her breath coming more sharply, the need that she had felt on the lakeshore beginning to grow. Her hands moved restlessly up and down his arms, wanting to touch him further.

He deepened the kiss, her head tipping slightly to accommodate, his own breath quick and heavy. Long, slender hands drifted down to the small of her back. Humming in pleasure, she rose into the kiss, revelling in her newly-earned right to his delectable lips.

He moaned softly, the tenor of his voice unlike anything she had ever heard from him before. He clasped her tightly to him, and she could feel their bodies heaving almost in tandem, sending a frisson of electricity through her. He kissed the corner of her mouth, a gesture that she would not have imagined could be so seductive, and proceeded to trail his lips in feather-light kisses along her jawline to her ear. She moaned, shivering at the sensation, heart pounding erratically.

She raised her hand and wound her fingers back through his soft, silky black hair. Shivering in return, he kissed her earlobe, then nipped at it playfully. She jumped slightly, not having expected that. Lowering her head, she pressed her lips to his long white neck, kissing it with undisguised hunger.

She wanted him—she wanted every last bit of him.

He gasped, head tilting back, hands tightening on her waist. "Ohhh…"

Encouraged by his response, she lavished kisses upon his throat, making him croon deep in his throat. She brought her hand down from his hair to his collar and nuzzled him. "May I…?"

"Oh, _oui, cherie…_ ," he said hoarsely, hands falling to his sides.

She continued to kiss his throat then, lips brushing at a whisper's pace across his skin as she undid his collar and pushed off his jacket. He _whimpered_ , softly, neck arching beneath her mouth. Her blood turned to fire at the sound, heady with the knowledge that she could and was reducing the Great Detective to putty. Her fingers flew from button to button of his shirt, undoing them. She pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat and sucked hungrily, divesting him of his shirt.

He moaned, panting. "Oh, Beth…!" He reached for her as she pulled his sleeves off his arms, and wrapped his arms around her—he felt shaky, steadying himself on her. " _Mon Dieu, ma cherie…_ " he breathed, "the things you do to me…!" He pressed his lips to the hollow of her shoulder and kissed passionately up the side of her neck to her pulse point.

Arching her neck, she gripped his sides to keep _herself_ steady, skin tingling, hot and flushed with need. "Love…"

She felt his lips stretch against her skin and realised that he was smiling. He nuzzled her jaw, trailed his lips over her skin to her mouth, and kissed her hungrily. She kissed him back with equal hunger, hands moving up and down his sides. She felt him shiver as he writhed slowly, back arching.

" _Mon amour_ ," he all but purred against her lips, voice dark with desire, "you are still wearing… far too many clothes…" She shivered, all cognitive thought erased from her mind for a moment—he could have taken her right there and then, fully clothed, and she would have had no objections.

He reached for the top buttons of her dress, but she murmured, "Let me," and shook her head, smiling ruefully. "Too many layers."

Eyes widening, he smiled. "Of course, _cherie_." He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers, then sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back against the bedpost.

Blushing, she set to work on her dress, quickly unbuttoning it and pulling it off. Underneath the dress and petticoat, she was still dressed as a boy. She pulled off her trousers, rather slower this time for Sherlock's benefit, then just as slowly unbuttoned her shirt and removed it, feeling rather sexy now as she did. She looked up and discovered that Sherlock was thinking likewise, if the appreciative smile and the burning, near-black eyes were anything to go by. She blushed deeper, breathless beneath his gaze, still awed to think that, just a few hours earlier, he wouldn't even _dance_ with her, and now he seemed to want her just as much as she wanted him...

He held out his hands to her, and she took them, letting him draw her close, guiding her to sit astride his lap. He groaned softly as she settled, and she lifted her hands to his hair, stroking it and smiling. He dragged his nails lightly up her back, and she arched it and tilted her head back, giving a shivering moan. He reached her bra clasp and unfastened it, her skin tingling beneath his fingertips. She shivered again as he slipped the straps off her shoulders and ran his hands down her arms. Her hips shifted of their own accord as somewhere low in her body began to urge her to get on with it.

His breathing quickened noticeably. His hands returned to the small of her back and drifted further down, caressing her rear. She would never have thought that could be a turn-on, but she whimpered, unable to keep herself from writhing on his lap now, her vision suddenly hazy.

He lowered his head to kiss the tops of her breasts and she arched up into his kisses, breathless, gripping his sides again to steady herself. His hands slipped inside her underwear, and her eyes went wide, her hips twitching and jerking forward involuntarily. His own hips lifted in response, groaning again. She tried to speak to encourage him further but could only moan incoherently, trembling at the thought of his touch at her most private place where she was burning desperately for him.

He removed one hand to cup her breast, sending another frisson of electricity through her, and kissed further down until he reached her erect nipple. Breathless, she watched as his lips coaxed it into his mouth, and then she gasped and threw her head back, her fingers digging into his flesh, because he was suckling her and circling her nipple with the tip of his tongue. "Ohhh! She-Sher-Sher-ohhh…" Her body sang with pleasure and ever-growing desire.

She distantly felt him shudder. He lifted his head and said hoarsely, "Beth… oh God, Beth, tell me what you need…"

She moaned helplessly, panting, only caring that his mouth was not attached to her where she wanted it to be. _More, please, calm down, come on, words_ … "…m-more…"

He kissed her hungrily again, then murmured against her lips, " _Bien sur, cherie…_ " He cupped her breasts in both hands, thumbs brushing across her nipples, then gently tweaked them between thumbs and forefingers. Shuddering, she groaned and whimpered, head lolling back. Nothing could ever have prepared her for the experience of jolt after jolt of pure sensual pleasure running through her body, for the sensation of her nipples being played with by long, slender fingers. Artist's fingers.

He kissed her neck as if to devour it (she couldn't help thinking, as much as she tried not to, of Moran doing the same, but where he had been rough and harsh, Sherlock was worshipful). She arched her neck and shifted in his lap, wet and needing friction.

He wrapped one arm around her waist, then slowly stroked his free hand down her ribs to her hip. She shivered, hips twitching, and he ran one finger along the inside of her underwear's waistline, a silent request to continue. Her eyes wide, she gasped out, "Oh… y-yes… love…!"

He slipped his quivering hand further inside, slowly caressing her skin lower and lower. Her panting moans grew louder and more desperate. He groaned with lust as his fingertips found her curls, and she trembled, hips lifting. He kissed her deeply as his hand moved lower still, fingers stroking down along the join of her leg, making her keen into his mouth. Then… oh, then he touched her womanhood, and she jolted with a cry of pleasure, thrusting her hips forward.

The arm around her waist tightened; the hand stilled. "Beth…?" he murmured shakily, concern in his voice.

She arched involuntarily, panting. "D-don't… stop… p- _please_ …"

He looked relieved, and she felt sorry for worrying him. Before she could apologise, however, he sealed his mouth to hers, and his hand gently explored the folds of her entrance. She held her breath, focused solely on the movement of his hand. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, two fingers entered her. She moaned long and loud into his mouth, writhing and shuddering in pleasure. He moaned with her as he began to pump his fingers in and out slowly. The pleasure nearly blinded her as she rocked herself onto his fingers, her head falling back, panting and whimpering, all but overcome…

Until some still-coherent part of her realised that her husband was not properly receiving pleasure with her. She struggled to regain more coherency as his fingers continued to pump and her body responded. "Sh-Sher-lock… want… y-you… p-please…"

He slowed his movements and nodded downwards, voice cracking as he spoke. "Un-undo me, love…"

She nodded, released him from her death grip, and lowered trembling hands to his bulged trousers, fumbling with them for several seconds before undoing them. She slipped a hand inside, eyes widening at the size of his manhood, strained towards his stomach—was this really what she did to him? Dear heavens… She trailed her thumb gently up and down his length, and he gave a strangled gasp, panting and bucking his hips. She shivered at his reaction, awed at how she could undo _him_. Continuing to stroke him, she murmured, "You are… so… _beautiful…_ "

He moaned pleadingly, back arching. "Beth, _please_ …" His voice almost became a whimper. "N-need you…"

She stopped, breath taken away, and kissed him soothingly. Against his lips, she whispered, "Then take me, love…"

His eyes flashed hot and bright at that. He slowly withdrew his hand, and she whimpered at the loss but responded in kind, withdrawing her own hand. He slid backwards onto the bed, drawing her with him, sinking into the mattress with her in his arms, kissing her deeply. She returned the kiss, lifting a hand to stroke his hair again.

He crooned at her touch, nuzzling her. He rolled over onto his side and removed her underwear, stroking and caressing her legs as he slipped it off. She moaned and writhed, reaching for his trousers to pull them off. He lay back and let her. "I love you…" he murmured.

Her heart thrilled at that, doubting that she would ever lose the wonder in hearing those three little words from him. She rose to pull his trousers completely off, then settled back down beside him, cupping his cheek. "And I love you," she breathed, and kissed him softly.

He kissed her tenderly back, drawing her into his arms again, heart pounding. He rolled her onto her back, moving to lie atop her, and nudged his knee between her legs to spread them apart. She moaned softly, hips lifting involuntarily, ready, oh so ready… She grasped his arms and rubbed them encouragingly, smiling shakily.

He hesitated, the same doubt glimmering in his eyes that she had seen beside the lake, when she told him she loved him and he hadn't believed her. "Beth… if you wish to stop at any time…"

She shook her head emphatically and framed his face with her hands. "Sherlock, _please_ …" _I want you, I need you, I need us to do this, please trust me, please_...

His eyes shone. "Yes, my love," he breathed. He positioned himself, kissed her deeply, pressed forward. She kissed him back, moaning into his mouth as he entered her, eyes wide. He slid in a little way, withdrew carefully, then pushed back in just a little further, wide-eyed and breathless. The feeling of him just slightly inside her was both arousing and odd, and she shifted and twisted, seeking a position that wouldn't feel so strange.

He leaned up on his forearms, resting his forehead on hers, eyes concerned. "Love, if this is hurting you…"

She shook her head, breathing ragged. "It's… not… promise… Just keep… going… I'm good… We're good…" She licked her lips to moisten them and kissed him hungrily, a second promise that she really was very okay.

He kissed her back just as hungrily and pushed forward again slowly, slowly, further and further… She shuddered at the sensation, gripping his sides to steady herself and closing her eyes to concentrate… Until he was fully inside her, and he paused, both of them breathless and wide-eyed with wonder. He leaned on one forearm to free his other hand and softly caressed her hip.

She moaned softly at his touch. "Oh, love…" Then her hips bucked upward of their own accord, and he gasped, his hand clutching her hip. "Oh my gosh," she whispered.

He groaned. "Oh, _Beth_ …" He pulled back and gently thrust forward again.

She shuddered. "Sherlock!" She reached for his face, then bucked again, head snapping back. He kissed the hollow of her throat as he continued to thrust, slowly and deeply. She moaned raggedly, starting to follow his rhythm. She reached blindly for his back, settled her hands there, and began to run her nails up and down it.

He cried out softly against her throat, fingers digging into her flesh, then wrapped his arms tightly around her, his mouth finding hers, drinking in her moans. She dug her fingers into his skin again as she kissed him back, bucking faster, eyes widening as she felt a pleasurable, _tightening_ sensation gathering low in her body and growing. He followed her rhythm, thrusting faster, moaning her name in ecstasy. She wailed his name pleadingly in return, trembling, increasingly tense—so much pleasure that it was almost unbearable, and it kept _growing_.

He stroked his hand back down her side, lifted her leg, and rested it on his back, using the new position to penetrate her deeper still, sending a powerful jolt of fire through her. "Oh, Elizabeth," he groaned, caressing her rear, " _oui, mon coeur… ma belle… ma chère femme…_ " She moaned in abandon at the sound of his loving, lust-drenched voice.

He captured her mouth once more, kissing her passionately... and then she was arching sharply, crying his name into his mouth as she climaxed, clenching and flowing around him. He moaned helplessly, bucked faster, hands tightening on her as his own tension built.

She broke off the kiss, head falling back, still shuddering. "Sherlock, love..." she gasped, "come for me...!"

His panting moans grew louder; she _felt_ him get nearer and nearer… He stiffened and threw his head back, crying out as he released into her, eyes closed tight, entire body shaking. She wailed, eyes wide at the sensation, and continued to writhe beneath him, still riding out her own ecstasy. He held her tightly as he continued to pulse, hips slowing gradually as the pleasure subsided.

He drew deep, shuddering breaths, eyes wide with wonder. "Oh, Beth," he breathed, "dear God, I never dreamed...!"

She was quieting as her body calmed, and smiled wearily, her eyes reflecting the wonder in his. "Sherlock," she murmured reverently.

He kissed her tenderly, starting to soften inside her; withdrew gently and collapsed onto the bed beside her, drawing her into his arms. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she nestled contentedly into his hold. "I love you," she whispered.

He stroked her hair, murmuring, "I love _you_ , Beth… so much." He nuzzled her. "I believe… I have been falling in love with you, dearest… ever since we first met."

Tears pricked her eyes as she looked up at him, heart too full for words. She had always dreamed—she could not help dreaming—but she never dared let herself _hope_. Not until they'd almost kissed on the train and he'd held her after her nightmare. She reached up to caress his cheek—thin and angular as it was, it was beautiful. His slim body was angles and clean lines that hid so much physical strength for his weight, and he was beautiful.

He leaned into her touch, covering her hand with his. "And so slowly but surely that I never realised I was doing so…" His smile was tender, but sadness lurked in the lines around his eyes.

She kissed him softly. "Shh. No regrets. Not now."

He returned the kiss just as softly. "Good… because having pursued me so determinedly, my darling wife, I'm afraid that there's no going back now—" he nuzzled her again, grinning tenderly—"you're stuck with me, love, well and truly."

Eyes shining, she stroked his face again. "I can definitely live with that," she breathed.

His smile radiant, he turned his head and kissed her palm. Her smile mirrored his as a thrill ran through her at his kiss—surely this was real. This was too detailed and wonderful even for her dreams. She smoothed her hand down his face and slowly stroked his neck with the backs of her fingers. His smile turned dreamy, eyes half-closing, all but purring, the very essence of feline. "Mm…"

She grinned affectionately. "You're just a big cat, aren't you?" she murmured.

His expression turned a bit sheepish, but with an irrepressible twinkle in his eyes, which widened with an innocent "who, me?" note: "Prrr?"

Grin widening, she reached up to fluff his hair, and he moved his head under her hand as if to emphasise her point. "Yes, you are, kitty." He eyed her with a tinge of wariness, no doubt at the new nickname.

She realised that her pulse had quickened at his behaviour; she stilled her hand, leaned up, and kissed his hair. "My kitty," she murmured.

Humming in agreement, he leaned up as well to nuzzle at her neck, purring softly.

She moaned quietly, eyelids fluttering. "Sweetheart," she warned gently. Unless he wanted to have another go, he needed to stop.

He smiled impishly again and planted a light kiss on her collarbone. "I'm sorry, love—I should have thought."

She gave a slight, rueful laugh. "Not your fault." _Not your fault that your wife is still a hormonal teenager_. She kissed his hair again.

His eyelids floated, and he sat back up and drew the covers over the two of them, snuggling back down again to wrap his arms around her. She nestled back in, exhausted but deliriously happy. "I give you fair warning, though, _cherie…_ in the very near future, I intend to discover every one of your weaknesses and take shameless advantage of them…"

She shivered at the thought of him experimenting in making love to her with as much painstaking care as he would put into a chemical exercise and as much passion as he would put into playing his violin. Unraveling her, discovering what would make her moan louder, writhe harder beneath him… _Whoa, calm down_. "I like the sound of that," she breathed, and smiled shyly up at him. "And I think I can safely promise likewise."

His answering smile was one of adoration as he kissed the tip of her nose. "I look forward to it, Mrs. Holmes."

Her breath caught. _Mrs. Holmes_. She started to stroke his hair again, humming softly.

Smiling blissfully, he gave a low hum of pleasure, his eyelids drooping. She decided to help him along, singing softly.

 _Some day_

 _When I'm awfully low_

 _When the world is cold_

 _I will feel a glow just thinking of you..._

 _And the way you look tonight_

His eyes drifted closed, head sinking further into the pillow. She smiled and paused. "Goodnight, sweetheart." She kissed his cheek.

His eyes fluttered open at her kiss. "Sweet dreams, love," he whispered drowsily, already half asleep.

She wound her free arm around him and continued to stroke his hair as she sang the rest of the song, watching as his breathing evened out. She settled in, and, tonight, she didn't have to dream.

* * *

 **Ria:** Our first _bona fide_ sex scene, hope you enjoyed it! ;) It's also the scene that's been edited/shunted around the most – this finale has had so many rewrites it's not funny. Fear not, though, the plotline is now well and truly nailed down, even if we do keep getting strongarmed by our characters into adding new scenes at the last minute...

 **Sky:** Wayeeeell... it's a _little_ bit funny... It's true, too: this poor scene has gotten what feels like a million versions of it.

Enjoy the next chapter!


	13. Interlude

**==Chapter 13==**

 **Interlude**

 _Now I understand why I have mixed feelings for you. You make me feel again. Something I've been teaching myself to try to avoid at all costs. The world has shaped me into a hard person as a form of protection, you see, but you're like some solevant dissolving my tusk away. I now am vulnerable but in the same way safe. I trust you._

– Hazelkin

Holmes was rudely woken by a rhythmic cracking, splintering noise – but after the first few moments of bleary-eyed panic, he realised that it was someone splitting kindling out in the inn yard. Relaxing, he looked over at Beth, still fast asleep beside him. The sight of his beautiful wife – nestling so close, so trusting, even while unconscious – took his breath away all over again. A foolish smile spread over his face as he remembered the last time he'd awoken in a similar situation... He could hardly believe the way things had turned out, still half afraid that at any moment he might wake up and find himself back at Torchwood... friendless and alone, choosing in growing despair between suicide or madness...

He shook his head, shivering, and snuggled closer to Beth. The scent of her alone was comforting, her warm, lissom form bringing much more recent and pleasant memories to mind... _Pardon the interruption, old boy, but don't you two still have travel plans?_ Holmes sighed deeply, fervently wishing that consciences had never been invented. That confounded inner voice was right, though, they did need to keep moving. He planted a kiss on Beth's soft, sleep-tangled hair, then nuzzled her gently.

Beth hummed fretfully at the disturbance, stirring against her will to find out what it was. She opened her eyes and frowned—Sherlock? _Oh_. _You got_ _ **married**_ _, remember?_ She smiled sleepily at him. "Sherlock..."

"Good morning," he murmured back, stroking her cheek. God, she was so lovely like this, all drowsy and relaxed, her smile shining like the sunrise... _Steady on – don't go starting something you haven't time to finish._

She leaned into his touch, eyelids fluttering in bliss. The way that he was looking at her took her breath away. "Good morning." She kissed him softly.

Oh, what he wouldn't give just to remain here with her and forget everything else. "How are you feeling?"

She stretched a little and smiled. "A little sore, but... really good." Despite the ache in certain places, she felt marvelously well-rested. "How 'bout you?"

"A bit tender, and I believe I've discovered some muscles I never knew I had." He smiled, brushing his nose against hers. "But I don't regret the experience in the least." He would never speak disdainfully of such matters again, now that he finally understood what delight could be found in such an intimate embrace.

Her eyes shone, remembering their activities with vivid clarity, desire beginning to stir low in her body. "Neither do I..." She kissed him again.

He sighed as he kissed her back, the gleam in her eye telling him clearly that she would be only too happy to pick up from where they'd left off. "Well, I suppose... we ought be getting up..." But the bed was so comfortable and she felt so _good_ in his arms...

Her face fell, and she groaned softly. "Must we?" It was too soon... she wanted him just one more time before they left... surely they were far enough ahead of anyone Moriarty sent after them.

He nodded regretfully, wishing the rest of him would be a little more cooperative. "I'm afraid so, _cherie_." He kissed her tenderly, then nudged her again with his nose. "To be continued..."

She nodded in resignation. "I know..."

And was obviously looking forward to that as much as him... _Focus._ Reluctantly, he rolled out of bed, and gathered up his scattered clothing.

Beth slid out of bed and shivered at the cold air, scrambling for her normal clothes and throwing them on.

Holmes watched her admiringly as he finished dressing, he was loving this newfound spouse's privilege. Once they were both ready, he put his arms back around her, feeling a tad foolish, but still needing to reassure himself that this wasn't merely a dream.

She wrapped her arms around him tightly, scarcely able to believe this latest turn of events herself. She wished desperately that they could stop running—when she came back for Sherlock, it was for the endgame; she never thought she'd be catapulted into yet another journey. Exhausted of running, of hiding, of pushing herself to her limits... and now she had something incredible that she'd never really let herself dream could be hers, and she just wanted to stop running and settle and rest with her _husband_...

He kissed her hair, letting her scent tell him that this was real, she really was here with him, he didn't have to go on alone. "I love you, Beth."

Those three little words from him would never stop thrilling her. She looked up at him, eyes shining with love, and whispered, "I love _you_ , Sherlock." She reached up to cup his cheek. "So, so much..."

Thrilling at her touch, he turned his head and kissed her palm – he had a strong suspicion he would never grow accustomed to this.

The gesture sent a small frisson of electricity through her, and she winced. "Sweetheart, if we want to get going..."

He nodded ruefully. "Indeed." It was very tempting to stay just a little longer... He shouldered his pack and took her hand again, squeezing gently.

She smiled wistfully and squeezed back, forcing lightness into her tone. "Where to now?"

"Well, we've almost rounded the end of the lake – and after that, we head south." No word had come from the station yet; if the train didn't arrive soon, they'd have to make new travel arrangements.

She nodded and sighed. "Let's get a-movin', then."

* * *

Fortunately, they didn't have long to wait, the train finally steaming into Montreux while they were at breakfast. Holmes chose not to haggle over having been forced to leave the train early, forking out another gem for two new tickets to the crossroad town of Brig on the Simplon Pass. In reality, though, they'd be jumping off the train as it left Martigny, the southernmost point of the track.

The crew were anxious to make up for the lost time, barely stopping the train long enough to let everyone on; they were already picking up speed again as Holmes closed their compartment door, tossing his bag onto the top bunk. "We'll be in Martigny in another half hour or so. Once the train starts heading out again, we'll take our leave – hopefully without anyone seeing us."

Beth set her bag on the floor and tilted her head. "Okay. After that, do we keep going south?"

He was suddenly having a hard time answering, her nearness in this narrow space reminding him of their almost-kiss, and their recent lovemaking still _very_ fresh in his mind. Unconsciously, he moistened his lips, drinking in the sight of her, her chestnut hair tumbled around her face by the wind off the lake, cheeks still flushed from the cold... "Er, yes, just... keep following the road, I suppose..." His arms reached for her almost of their own accord, drawing her close. "Until we find a suitable spot..."

The movement of his tongue captured her gaze, and she had difficulty of thinking of anything but his mouth on hers, on her skin... She only just heard him as he drew her close, feeling dazed. She wound her arms around him, wanting nothing more than to take him to bed right now. "Yeah... definitely secluded..."

"Speaking of things secluded..." he murmured, playing with the ends of her hair, "how would you suggest we pass the time, _cherie_... before we have to disembark?"

She decided to forgo a verbal answer and took hold of his collar, pulling him into a kiss.

* * *

It wasn't long before they learned of a small town, Champex-Lac, that would suit their purposes for hiding and resting. Getting there, however, was a different story, the most strenuous hike they'd undertaken yet. Still, the remoteness and insignificance of the town, up in the mountains and coiled around a frozen lake, meant that their chances of being discovered were comfortingly low.

They would have to move on after a couple of weeks, for safety's sake, but for now, Beth was determined to enjoy the little chalet they'd rented. "It's so cute—I love it!" she told Sherlock, grinning.

He hummed in agreement, summoning up a smile. This was a picturesque spot, to be sure, but he wasn't really in the mood to wax enthusiastic over the house's charms – he'd happily trade rustic ambience for modern conveniences, like indoor plumbing.

Sensing his lack of enthusiasm, she hugged his arm tightly and bounced. "C' _mon_ , it's just for a little while—it'll be fun!"

Not for too short a while, he hoped. Constantly being on the run had been hard enough on him the first time, and Beth was still dreadfully thin, alarmingly so. At the very least, she needed to regain some weight before continuing on, or she could fall seriously ill.

Dear heaven, her smile really was remarkably infectious… Laying his concerns aside for the moment, he wound his arm around her waist and kissed her, then scooped her up and carried her inside.

* * *

Much later, Holmes lay in bed beside a sleeping Beth; despite his own exhaustion, sleep remained elusive, thoughts returning to the well-worn path they had trodden countless times en route to the town. Forced into long periods of silence on the climb to save breath, the detective had had ample time for reflection, and stopping to rest had provided no respite, either. Watson had once quipped that no bed was a fortress against thought – how right the man had been. Their climb through the mountains had been a constant, uncomfortable reminder of when Holmes had first met the Doctor... _and you were missing Watson just as much then, too..._

He shook his head, sighing, and turned from staring unseeingly at the bedroom ceiling to gaze wistfully at his slumbering wife. Despite the odd moment of residual awkwardness, he couldn't deny that married life was really very pleasant. Being able to touch whenever they wished, hold hands or kiss, keep each other warm as they slept... so many wonderful, tender moments...

 _So can you really blame Watson for wanting to have that back? For seizing the chance to be happy again?_

Well, no... but...

 _But what? You think he should have remained faithful to Mary the rest of his life? Keep worshipping the memory of a ghost, never moving on?_

He was happy with her!

 _Well,_ _ **there's**_ _a turnaround! So now you're saying that there was nothing actually wrong with Watson getting married in the first place?_

I never said...

 _Liar. Let's take a little stroll down Memory Lane, shall we? Watson gets engaged to the girl of his dreams, and immediately shares the glad tidings with his best friend, not unreasonably hoping for a hearty congratulations, and how does that best friend actually react? You could have made it so much easier for him, gone to the wedding at the very least! But nooo, you had to be a resentful jerk about it, didn't you, try to punish him for daring to be happy without your approval! What kind of a friend does that? You never even told him you were sorry..._

No... I couldn't...

 _No, because you weren't. And now?_

...I don't know...

* * *

By Beth's reckoning, it had been about a week since they'd arrived in Champex-Lac, and food was growing ever more scarce. The villagers had adopted the practice of gathering for one regular communal meal every 'day,' bringing in whatever food they had to share. Beth and Sherlock were expected to do their part as well or fend for themselves, so Sherlock began ice fishing on the lake with some of the other men, while Beth joined the wood gathering parties. No one went out looking for firewood alone any more, as the wolves in these parts were equally hungry and getting bolder.

Just now, though, the meal had come and gone, and the Holmeses—Beth was still having a hard time associating herself by that name—were resting in their own common room, snuggled up together before the fire, arms around each other. Beth was playing with Sherlock's hair, as she often did now, finger-combing it this time. "I heard there was an accident today out on the ice," she said softly. "What happened? I couldn't get the story."

Holmes grimaced – he'd been trying not to think about that incident – then shrugged as casually as he could manage. "Well, it wasn't that serious, thankfully. The Berniers' youngest boy, Henri, he was skating too near the fishers, and one of the holes hadn't been flagged."

Beth's eyes widened in concern. "Oh my gosh."

"It was only big enough for his leg to go down, but he did wrench it rather badly, poor lad." He shivered in spite of the fire's warmth – the sudden _splash_ and the boy's cry of pain had almost made his heart stop at the time.

She shivered herself, grimacing. That must have been scary on top of hurting. "Oh, poor kid..."

"I'm sure he was more frightened than hurt." He tightened his arms around her, tone unconsciously turning grim. "He'll think twice next time before..." faltering a moment, "before acting so foolishly." Before scaring his older brother like that – the wild look of terror in Philippe's eyes when the young man arrived on the scene had spoken volumes...

She frowned and looked up at him questioningly. Something about this incident was bothering him, but she didn't have enough details to work it out.

Pretending not to see the look, he went on: "On the positive side, there were plenty of people on hand to assist." His voice quietened as he stared into the fire. "It could have been a lot worse."

"Mm." Too tired and comfortable to be frustrated, she let it go for the moment and let the quiet fall again... Until she decided that she could hardly hurt the currently non-existent amorous atmosphere with the question she'd locked up inside her since they'd come to town. "…Sherlock? What happens next?"

He was grateful for the distraction, until he realised what she was asking... _Because you still don't have the slightest idea._ Every time Holmes's thoughts turned in that direction, his insides started knotting again, and it was all he could to do not to just crawl away and hide... _but that's exactly what you are doing, isn't it? If it were up to you, you'd just keep walking with Beth forever, let the rest of the world carry on going to hell..._

Beth's heart sank at his silence. "I mean… we can't stay here forever…" She looked at him pleadingly. "You know that, right?"

"Of course," he answered stiffly, wishing fervently she'd point That Look anywhere else. "We'll continue on soon enough – if Italy's as politically stable as you described..."

Heart sinking further, she had difficulty keeping her voice calm. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

He heaved a sigh, answering sourly, "Well, what would you like me to tell you? That running and hiding like this is only a temporary state of affairs? That I am merely biding my time until I can implement some brilliant scheme to defeat Moriarty?" Given how amazingly well his last attempt had gone...

Beth gave up any attempt at keeping her cool, groaning and smacking her forehead. "Right," she said despairingly, "because that's going to make the world such a better place! It's not at all as if Moriarty's the one person in this mess who can probably hold it all together!" As much as she hated the man, she had to respect his ability to lead and organise; he had clearly been very ready for Frozen Time to happen.

Holmes slumped further down in his seat, feeling too damn tired and disheartened to keep arguing. "Ironic, isn't it? If the man wants a new protégé, I'm sure Machiavelli would be happy to take notes."

Beth didn't bother to bring up the possibility that _The Prince_ had been satirical. She paused, then put her arms back around him. "Honey, we can't be together for all eternity like this," she said softly. "Sally and baby Kathy and I... we're aging. Because we're paradoxes... we're aging."

He didn't move at first as she hugged him, still staring gloomily into the fire, but her words made his chest constrict – dear God, he'd never so much as considered... Abruptly, he wrapped his arms back around her tightly, trembling, hoping she could sense from his embrace everything he couldn't say in words. To know that, ultimately, even _Frozen Time_ couldn't stand still for them... and it might be selfish, but Holmes knew without the least shadow of doubt that if he lost his beloved, he wouldn't be long for this world, either.

* * *

 **Ria:** Poor Sherlock, he just can't escape from being reminded about Mycroft... and it's only a matter of time before the dam crumbles completely. *hugs him*

And for those who wish that the scene on the train hadn't ended so abruptly... you can read the scene in full on our blog, wholmesproductions dot tumblr dot com, called "Interlude: Extended Scene". ;)

 **Sky:** You know, I wish so much that things could have continued on the happy note that the last two chapters ended on. But, yeah, the problems are still out there, and the grief of losing Mycroft is still not dealt with. And Beth can't live forever. (Some things that we write just _gut_ me. That was one of them.)

Hold on in there, guys, and keep the chocolate and tissues nearby.


	14. You Know My Name

**==Chapter 14==**

 **You Know My Name**

 _"There came a time in everyone's life when they realized that in spite of how hard they'd been running from themselves, everywhere they went, there they were..."_  
― J.R. Ward, Lover Reborn

After a couple of hours out chopping wood with the village women, Beth came home and opened the door slowly, balancing an armload of the fruits of her labour. "Sherlock?" she called. "I'm home!" Sometimes he was home when she got back and sometimes he wasn't, but it was close to time for the daily meal, so they'd have to get going. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her, heading to the fireplace.

 _...Huh?_ Slumped on the couch, Holmes started blearily at the voice, a bottle of God-only-knew-what slipping out of his lax grasp and falling to the floor. _Oh bugger, drink's gone..._ He made a halfhearted effort to rise and retrieve the rolling bottle, but the couch suddenly seemed oddly reluctant to let him up.

Beth almost dropped her load at the sound of the bottle falling, turning and seeing Sherlock limp and flushed on the couch. Was he—he was... _Where on earth did he get that bottle and_ _ **why**_ _?!_ She set the wood down and turned to him fully. "Hi."

He stared owlishly up at her through the amber haze and gave a jerky nod. "Oh, h'llo." _Wha's she doin' home s'early?_

She sighed and picked up the bottle, looking it over critically. Oh zed, it wasn't labelled—had it been home-brewed? He'd certainly managed to put himself into as much of a stupor as last time... "What's up?" she managed to say evenly.

"Nothin' much..." His gaze slid away from her face and back to the bottle. Beth seemed a bit upset, maybe she needed a drink, too. "Foun' tha' unner the floor, you wan' some?"

Beth smiled tightly. "Not much left." Drinking out of a bottle without knowing the alcohol content? _He could have killed himself!_ She was starting to wonder how he'd managed to live this long, Watson or no Watson. She set the bottle down by the firewood. "Was it any good? "

Holmes snorted. "Who cares? Keeps th' cold out, tha's wha' matters!" _It isn't numbing the pain, though, is it? Shuddup..._

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

His brow furrowed. "Course." He couldn't quite manage a conspiratorial wink. "Got t'keep warm, y'know, all this snow about."

She sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose, then looked him in the eye. "Sherlock," she said as patiently as she could manage, "that's what the fire is for. You don't have to get drunk to stay warm."

Holmes frowned. "S'who's drunk? 've only had a nip or two." _Question, old boy... exactly who do you think you're fooling like this?_

She swallowed her initial impulse to burst out at him, took a deep breath, and sat beside him. "Sherlock," she said gently, "why?"

Holmes sighed. "Could've sworn I jus' tol' you..." He wasn't too drunk to know what she meant, but he'd be damned if it was any of her business! He tried again to get off the couch, only rising about half a foot this time before the room started tilting.

She nodded slowly, doing her best not to let him see how much it hurt to see him like this, for him to still not... not let her in. He'd feel bad enough when he was sober again; he didn't need to add unnecessary guilt to that. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat and said even more quietly: "…I thought you were done lying to me."

The quiet pain in Beth's voice made him wince. "All righ', might've had a bit too much, so what? Be all th' same in the morning, anyway..." Another snort. "Hell, s'morning now!" _S'always morning..._

She watched in concern: so much pain in his eyes before he looked away... "Yes, it is." She lapsed into silence, hoping he'd give in sooner or later.

He clasped his hands together to stop them shaking, closed his eyes, but he could still feel her gaze pinning him to the couch. All he wanted right now was to grab the bottle back and finish it off, maybe then he could stop _thinking_...

Heart aching, she reached out and drew him into her arms.

He didn't have it in him to resist, leaning into her hold, knuckles white, chest burning, he could hardly breathe...

"Sherlock… _please_ , sweetheart..."

His face twisted involuntarily, an almost inaudible whimper escaping. It hurt, _it hurt so much,_ _please, God,_ _ **please**_ _, make it stop..._

She nuzzled him comfortingly. "Honey… does this have anything to do with your brother?"

Holmes shuddered, shrinking in on himself, unable to answer; suddenly he was completely clearheaded again and desperately wishing he wasn't.

 _Oh, God, what do I say? What do I do?_ She didn't know—she could help someone to survive, to run and hide; she could protect them; she could raise their spirits... But she wasn't just part of a team anymore—she was a _wife_ , and she was married to a man infamous in the future for his depression...

And she had no idea how to handle the responsibility. What had she been thinking?! Sherlock _needed_ someone _better_ than this! _He needs someone better than you_. _**Shut up**_ _._

 _...he needs to grieve_. "You know... he was very kind when I went to see him."

Holmes felt as if the floor had suddenly fallen away... _Why?!_ Of all the things he didn't want to hear from her, this was top of the list.

"I think I shocked him… seems to be a talent with me… He couldn't figure me out… and I think I startled him with my determination to go after Oberstein."

Holmes just kept sitting, unable to move or speak, staring helplessly at the floor. He hadn't been able to decide which would be worse: hearing about what had happened or never knowing... but the choice had just been taken out of his hands, grief and the drink binding him to his seat, Beth's voice soft but relentless.

"He didn't know… When I tried to introduce myself as being there on your behalf… he said he didn't have a brother."

Holmes wondered dazedly if he looked as deathly ill as he felt... "H-he... he didn't... remember me...?" he whispered. ... _God,_ _ **no**_ _, not Mycroft, not him too..._

Beth paused and closed her eyes, chest aching sharply. She wished she didn't have to do this... She opened her eyes and pressed on. "…he asked for your name… and when I told him… he looked shaken."

His eyes widened, equally shaken. "Yes... I imagine he did..." Twenty years, and that damned memory still refused to be buried, even in Frozen Time...

She grimaced, hoping she hadn't gone too far. "…Sherlock?"

He flinched at the sound, answering bitterly, "You've probably wondered why I was given such an... ill-fitting name..."

She winced at his tone. "No, I haven't..."

"Mother felt certain that My... their firstborn resembling Father so closely meant that their next child would favour her. She was determined to call the second child 'Sherlock', if it was a son..." His jaw clenched, grating out, "And as Father obligingly told me the day I left: 'if they'd ever had one'." He shivered, the true irony of those drunken, hurtful words striking deep.

Her breath caught, tears pricking her eyes—she could cheerfully have murdered his father for that. She tightened her hold on Sherlock and stroked his hair. _How do I respond to that?! ...just finish your story_. After a few seconds, she continued gently, "Mycroft... toasted you, sweetheart, I think. He told me that he didn't understand a thing about me, except for one... that I loved a man who was never born... but perhaps should have been." It still made her heart hurt to remember it—Mycroft had looked so sad... as if trying to remember something he knew he should never have forgotten...

 _Should have been... and now he's dead and you're in Hell..._ _ **You**_ _did that..._ A strangled sob escaped his throat, squeezing his eyes closed as the tears began to well up, he couldn't cry, he _couldn't_...

Her own tears falling silently, she kissed his hair. "Just let it go, sweetheart," she said hoarsely. "I've got you—just let it go..."

 _...Mycroft..._ Holmes bowed his head, covering his face with his hands as more sobs started to wrench free, tears finally spilling over. _It's all my fault... I killed him!_

Beth kept him close and rocked him slowly, tears falling, heart breaking. He curled into her embrace, unconsciously clutching handfuls of her shirt, tears streaming, his body wracked by deep, shuddering sobs. She simply continued to hold and rock him, letting him cry, profoundly thankful that he was doing so at last. _My poor Sherlock_...

He wrapped his arms around her waist, clinging to her as he rode out the storm. Even when the torrent finally subsided, leaving him limp and trembling in her embrace, she didn't let go, starting to hum as she rocked him, stroking his hair. Slowly, the tension drained out of him, Beth's soft voice and touch helping to soothe the burning ache in his chest. He wasn't alone...

As grateful for the calming as she was for the weeping, Beth kissed his hair and sang softly. " _You are my sunshine… my only sunshine… you make me happy… when skies are grey…"_

He nestled closer, relaxing a little more. It did sound nice... she'd never sung for him before...

" _You'll never know, dear… how much I love you… please don't take my sunshine away…_ " She fell silent, resting her head on his. He was a lot more relaxed now, breathing deeper and slower, eyes closed, but tears still leaking out from under the lids. "Sherlock," she said softly, "Mycroft might not have remembered you… but I think his heart knew… knew who you were meant to be. And I could tell… he missed you, too, honey."

He wiped his face with his sleeve, sniffing. "I never thought... never thought Moriarty would..." He choked on the next escaping sob, whimpering as the tears started flowing again.

"I know, sweetheart," she whispered back, "I know..."

"I didn't even try to find out... if he was all right..."

She kissed him again but said nothing this time, letting him air it out.

"He was... he was _Mycroft_ , I just assumed he would be..." Even when at his most irritating, the idea that his older brother could ever _not_ be there had been inconceivable.

She tightened her hold again, heart aching. "I know..." _You always assume family and friends will live forever, until they don't..._

"...I could have saved him..." _Just one word... Moriarty surely would have at least considered..._

She began to rock him again, still stroking his hair. There wasn't anything she could say that would make him think otherwise, not yet. Not now. He had to go through the whole grieving process, no matter how much it hurt to witness it.

"He was my _brother_... and I barely spared him a thought when he needed me most..." His sobs were returning; "and he d-died helping you... for _my_ sake... and _he couldn't even remember me_...!"

Her breath hitching, she began to cry silently again, holding him tight as he wept brokenly, hanging limply in her arms. Gradually, his sobs eased as grief was overtaken by exhaustion and alcohol, head and eyes growing heavy.

He'd had enough. She started to sing softly again, with the intent of sending him to sleep, stroking his hair as she sang.

 _When I am down, and oh! my soul so weary_

 _When troubles come, and my heart burdened be_

 _Then I am still, and waiting in the silence_

 _Until you come and sit awhile with me_

 _You raise me up so I can stand on mountains_

 _You raise me up to walk on stormy seas_

 _I am strong when I am on your shoulders_

 _You raise me up to more than I can be_

He strove to keep his eyes open... her touch was so soothing... but he couldn't let go...

She paused just long enough to murmur, "I'm right here, honey… It's okay… just go to sleep…" She kissed him and kept singing.

 _There is no life, no life without its hunger_

 _Each restless heart beats so imperfectly_

He nodded jerkily and closed his eyes, trying to focus only on the sound of her voice. Beth was here... she wouldn't let the nightmares near him... He was _so_ tired...

Beth kissed his hair again. _Please let him sleep deeply and without dreams... please..._

 _But then you come, and I am filled with wonder_

 _Sometimes I think I glimpse eternity_

His lips unconsciously curled into a faint smile as her singing carried him down into sleep. She had such... a sweet voice...

She sighed in relief when his breathing evened out. Finishing the song, she drew her legs up onto the couch and settled in for some rest herself; she felt emotionally drained. _This is what you signed up for... Seriously? Shut up._

* * *

Nikola 'knocked' softly at the edge of Beth's thoughts. _Beth?_

Beth blinked, startled. _Nikola! Long time, no see—how are you? How's everyone?_

 _We're fine, don't worry. I'm so sorry, Beth – what with one thing and another here... and every time I did start to make contact, you always seemed a little too preoccupied._ The ever-increasing distance wasn't helping, either, but he wasn't about to burden her with that.

Beth blushed—yeah, she was sure she had been... _No, no, it's okay—we're okay. Um…_ She blushed again. How to tell him that she and Sherlock had gotten _married_?!

He looked at her curiously; despite her obvious discomfiture, Beth's aura was brighter and clearer than he'd ever seen it... before... _Nebesa..._

She looked at him uncertainly. . _..Nikola?_

He grinned at her fondly, although with more than a hint of exasperation. _It's about time, you two._ It had taken them _how_ long to get on the same wavelength?

She blushed furiously. _…ah... I… uh… he… Don't tell anyone!_

Nikola raised his eyebrows, taken aback by her reaction. _All right..._ Did she really think _anyone_ of their acquaintance was going to disapprove?

 _No, no! I just mean… I'm sorry… I wanted it to be a surprise… kind of… sort of… I mean…_ She groaned at her inability to be coherent. A thought slipped out of her and into the conversation before she could stop it: _I want to tell Sally_...

He smiled, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. _It's all right, Beth, I understand._ He couldn't resist adding, _Of course, you realise she's going to be most put out at not being Matron of Honour._

She giggled nervously. _Well… she might get a chance yet. It wasn't the most official wedding…_

 _Oh, I see._ Nikola nodded in approval; all the trappings of a traditional wedding seemed a pure waste of time and energy to him.

Beth groaned again—she actually would have _liked_ to start out with a real wedding, but... needs must... _Look,_ _ **anyway**_ _… we're in Switzerland. And… ahhh… this is still a work-in-progress, this whole resetting Time thing..._

He frowned, Beth's concern for her husband was highly tangible. _How is he?_

She sighed. _We're getting there, I think… He's just… there's been so much damage done… not the least of which is dealing with his brother's death._

He nodded slowly, heart aching at the distress in her thoughts. _What is it, draga?_

She shook her head. _Moriarty didn't manage to teach Sherlock how to actually turn_ _ **off**_ _his emotions—Sherlock just learned to suppress them better. And… oh gosh, Nikola… Mycroft's death…_

Nikola put his arms around her at once. How he wished he might do more to comfort her... but it wasn't his place. _He's blaming himself, isn't he?_

She nodded, wiping away some very real tears. _He couldn't have known… there was nothing he could have done… This whole thing is such a huge mess and I don't know how it's going to get better..._

He rocked her a little, gently radiating sympathy. _Well, as you say, patience would still seem to be the best course, for the moment. You'll know when he's ready to come home..._ He shook his head, sighing wearily. _As for Watson..._

She'd been relaxing and now stiffened slightly, eager to know how John was doing and yet... And yet, at this point, she felt a little resentful—and frustrated with herself for feeling that way at all. _Yes?_

Nikola smiled ruefully. _Poor fellow, he has no idea how loudly he's broadcasting, all the time._ Now that Watson was back at Rosewood, his own mission accomplished for the moment, he was all but climbing the walls. Nikola could only do his best to shield his own mind, as teaching Watson to do the same might well do more harm than good; the doctor's very openness meant a greater chance of he and Holmes reconciling when they finally met again.

She sighed, also a little concerned—and hating her emotions mixing like this. Why did her heart have to be so bloody difficult? _What's wrong?_

He shook his head sadly. _He's afraid, Beth... I don't think he even realises how much. He is missing Holmes – that's painfully clear to everyone here – but as much as he wants to see his friend again, he almost_ _ **doesn't**_ _want to._

 _Well, great, that makes two of them,_ she said, exasperated. As much as she loved her husband, she was practically ready to knock their heads together. _At this rate, I'll only be in my grave before they finally so much as say one word to each other._

Nikola looked at her gravely. Should he tell her? _Beth... has Holmes spoken of Watson at all since you escaped?_

 _Not... really... But if I had to make a guess, I'd say at the very least that Sherlock_ _does_ _feel his side of the responsibility, considering his recent behaviour._

He nodded, exhaling heavily. Holmes clearly hadn't told her about Watson's first meeting with Moriarty, which made this even more awkward. _But even Holmes can't tell you everything, Beth – and I'm quite certain that Watson wouldn't want this to become common knowledge... but I think you need to know._

She grimaced. _Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this at all?_ She almost told Nikola not to tell her... she'd had more than enough grief for one day...

 _No._ Nikola took a deep breath. _As you said, draga, Moriarty did a lot of damage to Holmes... and I can only imagine how painful it must have been for you to find him like that... but can you imagine what it would have been like to watch it happening?_

Her breath caught, a dull, sick feeling coiling in her stomach and a dull ache forming in her chest. No... please, no... _Did... did John?_

The telepath nodded grimly. _Watson still had Sally's phone when he was taken... and Moriarty used it to record Holmes's... education..._ His face darkened at the thought of the few memories Watson had felt able to share with him, careful to keep them hidden from Beth's view.

She shuddered and bit her lip, remembering her reunion with Sherlock, scarcely acting like himself... cold, uncaring, repulsive... _Oh God..._

 _Moriarty always made sure Watson saw the very worst of his friend... but since the rescue, he hasn't even had that. I'm doing my best to keep him updated from our conversations, but still..._ Nikola gestured helplessly. _At the end of the day, it's only a second-hand account, it's just words!_ He sighed. _And when you add to that the guilt of knowing he was partially responsible for this whole mess getting started..._

Beth's eyes brimmed with unshed tears—angry though she still was with John, she couldn't imagine what kind of hell the past several months had been for him. No one deserved that, least of all John Watson. _So what are you going to do about it?_ said the aggravating voice at the corner of her mind. She had the brief, half-hysterical thought that she and Nikola were basically therapists for Sherlock and John, and _they_ were going to need therapy by the time the two friends had made up.

. _..then let him see what I see. Show him, please..._ She tried to summon up her best memories, clumsy and untrained as she was psychically: Sherlock vulnerable and wonderful and _human..._ His horror upon hearing of his brother's death... his determination to protect her from Johnstone's men ( _"You may do your worst with me, gentlemen, but you will not touch the boy"_ )... that first awkward but heartfelt apology... fighting the soldiers (he'd killed for her, she'd realised during their trek away from that spot)... holding her close and keeping her warm in the catacombs... the fire in his eyes when he chewed out Marcel's sister, rescuing the couple from the guillotine (she'd wondered ever since who he'd seen beheaded before, his drive to save the victims had been so passionate, so personal)... their tour of the castle, how _normal_ he seemed to be, almost like a normal boy taking a girl out on their first date (and in retrospect, maybe that's exactly what it had been)...

The memories began to avalanche; she couldn't stop them, and they grew clearer as they progressed. Sherlock comforting her after her nightmare, so sweet and gentle and kind... his jealousy at the lakeside... returning her kiss and admitting that he loved her, exchanging their vows... and his heartbroken sobs as he mourned Mycroft's death, his crushing guilt for failing to protect his brother...

By the time she had finished, Nikola's eyes were glistening, too; he could tell how difficult it had been for her to share some of those moments. He hugged her tight and whispered, _Thank you, Beth..._ If this didn't make a difference for Watson, nothing would.

She hugged him tightly back, trembling from the intensity of the memory share. _…give everyone my love._

 _I will._ Nikola smiled warmly as he broke contact. From what Beth had shown him, he didn't think it would be very long at all before the pair returned home.

Beth shivered as his mind left hers. She hated that feeling, as if she'd been sitting cosily before a fire and it suddenly went out. Settling back down, she sighed, still feeling emotionally exhausted but not quite so sleepy anymore.

* * *

 **Ria:** *sniff* There are times when writing Sherlock is just plain horrible... I am glad we finally got to this point, though. So many breakthroughs, and just one to go...


	15. White Shores Are Calling

**==Chapter 15==**

 **White Shores Are Calling**

 _Sometimes a person has to go a very long distance out of his way to come back a short distance correctly._

– Edward Albee, Zoo Story

Slowly regaining consciousness, Holmes couldn't even remember where he was at first; all he knew was a terrible thirst and a blinding headache. He groaned, trying to hide his face from the light glaring in through the windows. Why did he feel so awful?

Beth shifted in her sleep, humming fretfully at being disturbed, and opened her eyes slowly. _We were sleeping on the couch?_ _ **Oh**_ _. Sherlock. Alcohol. Mycroft._ "Morning, sunshine," she said drowsily.

 _Sunshine..._ Holmes froze. _Beth singing to him as he cried in her arms..._ He put a hand over his mouth, whimpering at the renewed ache in his chest... and his churning stomach... _not now,_ _ **please!**_

Her eyes widened, fully awake now. "Oh, honey!" She held him close—he looked truly pitiful. "Do you want some water? Should I get you water?"

"Oh, God..." Holmes croaked, turning pale. The thought of swallowing _anything_ was already making his stomach rebel.

She paled, herself. "Uh... oh, zed, you're going to throw up, aren't you?" She didn't even think they had anything he could vomit _into_ , and just trying to get up from under him could set him off.

He groaned in growing misery and dread – she had to say it...

Beth scanned the room desperately and settled upon the darkened fireplace. "That's it! Hon, the fireplace! Want me to help you over—should I help you over?" She sounded panicked to her own ears, but she couldn't help it.

He nodded unthinkingly, wincing. "... _please_..."

She bit her lip. "Okay..." Moving as quickly as she could but gently, she lifted him and bore him over to the fireplace. It was easy to do—he was ridiculously light.

Holmes had to swallow hard as she moved him, just managing to hold back until his head was over the ashes. To think he'd once _planned_ to poison himself...

Beth maintained her hold but grimaced and averted her gaze, her own stomach churning in sympathy at the sound of his retching. _Zed_ , how much alcohol must he have had in him?

He kept his face turned away once he'd finished, unable to meet her eyes. What must she think of him, doing this to himself a second time, _and_ after promising her that it wouldn't happen again!

As he calmed, she exhaled shakily and stroked his hair soothingly. "Hey," she murmured, "wait for me next time you wanna do some serious drinking, okay?" She smiled tentatively. "We'll get set up with a drinking game—there's gotta be one we can do on something that's been written by now."

He gave a sobbing laugh, then winced and fell silent as his overtaxed stomach muscles complained; turned his head back, blushing deeply, eyes downcast, and mumbled, "I'm sorry..." She must be so sick and tired of having to deal with all of this – his behaviour of late wouldn't be out of place in an asylum.

She drew him up slowly into a proper hug. "Hey, it's okay," she said gently, "it's okay..." _I mean, thank goodness he's finally dealing with this rather than holding it all in_. She kissed his hair. "Would you like to lie in bed, or would you rather stay on the couch?"

Arms trembling, he hugged her back as best he could, gratefully resting his head on her shoulder. "Bed... please..." he murmured wearily, realising with a shiver just how cold the common room had gotten. His chagrin grew as he looked back at the fireplace; his mess needed cleaning up before the fire could be relit in here.

She saw the look but simply nodded. "Okay." She kissed him again. "Come on, hon." She stood slowly, pangs shooting through her stiff limbs. "Maybe you can sleep off the headache."

He gave her a faint, rueful smile, although he almost wished she _would_ scold him for being so bloody stupid. "I'll be all right... just need to rehydrate." God, his mouth tasted foul – and of course they were far from any sort of painkiller!

"Right-o." She walked him slowly to the bedroom, grimacing as the pain from sleeping almost fully upright on the couch beneath him for several hours made its presence felt. "Remind me to sleep _lengthwise_ on the couch next time, 'kay?"

He hummed in agreement, trying to shift his weight off her slightly. "Although I'd much prefer us to share the bed." Not that he could blame her if she'd rather sleep in the other room.

She groaned as she stretched, and murmured, "Me, too." As they entered the bedroom, she continued, "And that's exactly what I intend to do as soon as I get the fire going in here and get you some water." She lowered him gently onto the bed.

He gratefully sank his pounding head into the soft pillow, moaning quietly, "As of this moment, I am becoming teetotal."

She groaned again. "Ohhh, you mean my only drinking partner for the rest of my life is going to be Will?" She flopped down onto her stomach beside him. "No drinking games? No chardonnay or merlot or chianti with popcorn?"

Holmes grimaced as his stomach gave another lurch. "Could we... possibly leave discussing the wine list for another time?"

She ducked her head in embarrassment. "Sorry."

He shook his head, instantly regretting it. "I suppose I deserved that." He reached for her hand and squeezed it in silent apology. This might be the first time she'd ever had to play nursemaid quite like this, but he meant it to be the last time as well.

She squeezed back, frowning slightly. "I think you've already gotten more than you 'deserved,' sweetheart." A hangover to end all hangovers, to be precise.

He closed his eyes, whispering miserably, "Have I?" He could still remember the last hangover with painful clarity... and the most painful part of all had been Watson's gentle care, such confusion and disappointment in his eyes the whole time...

She leaned up and kissed his cheek softly. "Sherlock," she said gently, "I can't blame you for drinking upset when I've done it, too."

His eyes cracked open again, looking at her in surprise. When was this?

She smiled sadly. "Considering the past year… I just... I wanted to actually feel _okay_ , just for a little bit. After the hangover, though, I figured it wasn't worth it, so..." She gave a small grin. "I'd just... never let myself get that far again."

He hummed in understanding, leaning in to kiss her forehead, then remembered he hadn't rinsed. "Water, please, love?"

Eyes wide, she bolted upright. "Yes, sorry!" She dashed out of the bedroom to the kitchen, stopping by the common room to shovel some of the ash from the cold fire over the mess, and returned with a cup. "Here."

Holmes gingerly sat up and sipped slowly, resisting the urge to gulp it down; he hadn't realised just how dehydrated he was, and his head still rang like an anvil. _Never again..._

Beth hurried to rekindle the bedroom's fire—with both fires having died out, the indoor temperature wasn't a vast improvement on the outdoors, and she was feeling distinctly chilled anyway without Sherlock's body heat. Once the fire was going, she pulled off both their boots and settled in under the blanket beside him.

He put his arms around her and drew her close, smiling tenderly. "Thank you." Should he kiss her? Still uncertain about the state of his breath, he opted for kissing her cheek instead.

Smiling ruefully, she wiped his lips gently with her sleeve. "No problem." She wrapped her arms around him then and kissed him properly.

Well, she'd probably heard enough apologies from him for now... He kissed her back with a soft hum, enjoying the moment, wishing he felt well enough to take things further.

She caressed his cheek with the backs of her fingers and pulled back just enough to murmur adoringly, "I love you." She'd never get tired of saying that.

"I love you, too." He closed his eyes to ease his headache, though not tired enough yet to go under. "You know... I can still hardly believe you married me..."

"Well… the feeling is very mutual." She still wasn't sure why exactly, or how, Sherlock had fallen in love with her—she only knew that there was no point in time in which she'd realised it. She'd only understood it by the time they were standing beside the lake.

Holmes tightened his arms around her, heart aching as much as his head. "I don't blame you," he whispered, throat tight. After the way he'd treated her, it was a wonder to him that she'd even thought it worthwhile to tell him how she felt, let alone propose.

She frowned—what was that supposed to mean? "Sherlock?"

He looked her in the face, eyes full of pain. "Forgive me, Beth... I tried so hard to convince myself I didn't care for you... It's no wonder you believed it, too."

She bit her lip. "Sherlock... I told you I forgave you, and I meant it, love." Even if the memories still stung a little... She nuzzled him and murmured, "Besides, I figured it out eventually... even if I don't entirely understand _why_..."

"That is what distresses me most, _cherie_ ," he murmured back. "You are the most... incredible young woman, and yet you constantly undervalue yourself. And it saddens me to think that that is largely my doing."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, honey… it's not, I promise, it's not. I just… I don't know… I guess…" Enough people had chosen not to spend time with her, even before the Doctor had come back. "I just don't think of myself as anything special. I mean, I'm not, honestly. So I was a grade ahead of everybody else in school—I was just put in early. And so… y'know, just… stuff I've done since… Time froze… it's not like nobody else could do it… I mean…" She blushed, embarrassed at her increasing incoherency, and ducked her head. _What happens if he ever understands you're not really worth his time after all? ...please don't, not now_...

He lifted her chin, eyes glistening. "Be that as it may, dearest... there is no one else who could have captured my heart the way you did." And all without even trying... _Well, that probably helped. A girl who obviously cared, but didn't just sit around waiting for you to notice? Of course you were intrigued!_

She smiled slightly back, belying the ache in her chest. Her heart had no problems believing that he loved her—she knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt—but her head wouldn't stop wondering _why_... "Really?"

He stroked her cheek, smile widening as he suddenly realised: "My darling, I had already begun falling for you before we first met."

She stared. "What?"

"When you were fighting Robert Greene on the first day of school, defending that younger boy. I was struck even then by your courage and compassion..." And that first impression had only grown stronger as he came to know her better.

She felt her cheeks flaming again, unable to think of a single thing to say to that. Sometimes, she forgot that the first time she and Sherlock had a glimpse of each other was at that fight with Rob...

"And they are merely two of the many things which make you the woman I have grown to love." Her dazzling, infectious smile, her razor-sharp wit, the way she never gave up on those she loved – he would never be able to tell her just how much that meant to him... Then he saw with pain that Beth was blinking back tears, looking completely dumbfounded. He nuzzled her, murmuring sadly, "I only wish I knew how to help you believe that."

 _Great,_ _good job. You made him feel worse instead of better_. "...I do!" she protested."I _know_ that you love me, Sherlock, I really do! I just… don't really… understand… why…" Surely he must have met other women who were smarter, kinder, more mature... _more_...

He rested his forehead on hers, gazing into her eyes, his voice low and earnest. "Because you have seen me at my worst, Beth, and have never turned away... and because the Great Detective is nothing more than a shadow, a character in a book, he doesn't exist, he never did. The real Sherlock Holmes is a flesh-and-blood human being, perfectly capable of doing the most foolish things..." He smiled tenderly, eyes shining; "but also of falling in love."

A couple of tears escaped her, her breath stolen away at the love radiating from him. "...I love you," she whispered at last.

"I love _you_ ," he whispered back, and kissed her reverently. One day, he silently vowed, his beloved would see herself the way _he_ saw her.

She kissed him softly back. Maybe she didn't understand why he felt the way he did, but at least he _did_ , and that was enough for now.

* * *

 _...wind in Holmes's hair, under his arms, holding him aloft... but it isn't hair, it's feathers, he's flying... a glossy black raven, soaring over the Sussex Downs towards the Channel, cawing with the joy of flight... but he's flying alone, he shouldn't be alone, ravens mate for life... and the land across the blood-dark water is calling..._

 _Now he's suddenly over Paris's elegant sprawl, spiralling down, down, and he knows that square, that obelisk... The Place de la Concorde is crowded to bursting point, the only visible place to land is on the guillotine itself... Holmes's claws gouge the wooden frame as he takes in the impossibly long line of prisoners, stretching out of sight. Dear God, no... not Lestrade... the Inspector and the other Yarders keep the queue and the crowd in check, and Holmes's heart sinks further to see Mrs. Hudson sitting with the other women beside the scaffold, knitting a red cap, nodding and smiling as if this were merely an evening at the theatre!_

" _You're just in time, my boy." Moriarty looks up from his seat on the platform with a sickeningly paternal smile... and now he's fluttering down, returning to his human form as he lands, but still all in black, right down to the executioner's cowl... Dazed, he puts out a hand to steady himself on the nearest solid object, the guillotine, and his hand is suddenly stuck to the release handle, he can't let go..._

" _John Watson, you have been found guilty of high treason to the Crown..." The doctor is next to be hauled up the steps in chains, and Holmes is even more aghast to see Sally standing in the crowd before the scaffold, weeping silently, a baby wailing in her arms that wears Kit's adult face... and Watson isn't even resisting the guards, just letting them put him in place!_

" _Watson! Watson, look at me! You can't let me do this, please, help me save you!" But Watson just keeps staring up at the sky, face blank, his eyes dead... "Don't give in, Watson,_ _ **please**_ _, for the love of God! Your_ _ **family**_ _needs you – if not for me, fight for them!"_

" _As you fought for yours?" Moriarty's murmur in Holmes's ear sends a chill down his spine, the Professor raising his arm to point across the square..._ _ **No!**_ _Mycroft... His brother's bullet-shattered head, impaled on a raised pike, the laughing mob dancing around and around... and his brother's eyes suddenly snap open, staring at him accusingly, lips moving silently but clearly: 'I expected no less, Sherlock...'_

 _... and then Moriarty is giving the order and Holmes's hand is moving automatically, pulling the handle, his own screams echoing in his ears as the blade descends..._

* * *

Beth startled awake to the sensation of tossing and the sounds of crying. Sherlock was thrashing beside her in his sleep, sobbing and pleading, calling Watson's name. Eyes wide, she gripped his shoulder. "Sherlock? Sherlock, honey, wake up!"

He jerked awake with a cry of terror, eyes wide and panicked, gasping for breath. She found his hand and held it, squeezing tightly. "Sweetheart, it's me, it's Beth, I'm right here, it was just a dream, you're okay…"

Tears streaming, he clutched her hand tight, the nightmare still gripping him in its talons, the thud of the falling blade... "...Watson..."

Heart aching, she drew him into her arms. "Honey, John's okay. I just heard from Nikola—John is okay. He's safe, sweetheart."

He clung to her, trembling, taking deep, shuddering breaths, trying to focus on her voice. Safe... Watson was alive... he _hadn't_ killed him...

Her own tears fell as she stroked his hair soothingly. "He's safe, Sherlock, and he misses you."

Holmes hid his face in her shoulder with a hiccupping sob. The dream had felt _so_ _real_... and Watson's eyes... even disgust would have been better than no reaction at all.

Beth kissed his hair. "Honey, he misses you so much."

"Why...?" How could Watson possibly want anything to do with him any more?

"Because you can't just stop loving the people you're closest to," she said softly. Even at his angriest... surely John must still have cared deeply about Sherlock.

He turned his head, laying his damp cheek against hers. "I-I know... but... oh, Beth, the last time we spoke..." He shivered, whispering, "I've never seen him so angry."

She tightened her hold on him. "I'm sure… Do you think he's still angry?"

"Probably..." He sniffed and wiped his face with his sleeve. "He all but threw me out of the room at the time." _'The sooner you stop caring, the sooner you'll be free of me and any stain upon your conscience...'_

She frowned slightly, tilting her head. " _He_ threw you out…" She couldn't place something like that in the timeline of events as she knew them. "Sweetheart, when was that?"

Holmes blinked, taken aback – she didn't know? _Well, how could she, you never told her..._ He closed his eyes, biting his lip. "It was after... after the explosion."

She rubbed his back and hummed encouragingly.

"Moriarty had Watson brought in... alone, thank God." Holmes shuddered, easily able to imagine how that meeting might have gone with Sally there, too.

"...oh," Beth said softly.

Come to think of it, Beth had never explained _how_ Sally had escaped. "I knew Moriarty planned to use Watson against me... to force me to surrender. I tried... tried to convince him that we were no longer friends... that I didn't care what happened to him..." Holmes shivered, Watson's screams before mercifully passing out still haunted his dreams. "H-he... called my bluff... ordered his men to..." He choked, tears welling up again; "to break Watson's shoulder!"

Beth's breath caught in horror— _what kind of_ _ **monster**_... "Oh, Sherlock..."

He fought to keep some semblance of control, if he stopped now he'd never finish. "If I hadn't given in... they would have kept on breaking him... I couldn't do it, Beth... I had to stop them... the only way I could..."

She shuddered, not wanting to imagine and unable to stop trying to imagine. "Sweetheart, no one could have held up under that."

"But Watson... he knew... that that wasn't my only reason for making that bargain..." His friend had seen right through him, he always could.

"You couldn't lose him," she whispered. She understood that.

Expression pained, he whispered back, "I told you the truth before, Beth, when you came to find me... and Watson knew it without being told... that, deep down, I wanted what Moriarty offered." He looked down in shame. "I _was_ intrigued..." If he was going to be alone anyway... he'd felt he might as well learn not to care.

Beth shuddered again, feeling sick—that intrigue, she didn't understand, and hoped she never would. "Oh, Sherlock…"

"When I went to see him that last time... he t-told me... that I had sold my soul to the Devil... and that he would rather I had l-let them tear him apart...!" He hid his face back in her shoulder, breath hitching.

She couldn't think of a single thing to say to that, so she tightened her hold on him instead, stroked his hair, and rocked him slowly.

"I was so angry, Beth... I thought he was just being ungrateful... but he could see even then what was happening to me... How can I blame him... for being unable to continue watching me fall? "

She shuddered again, stomach lurching. "…he did," she said weakly, and then wished she hadn't.

Holmes's face was white, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Oh, God..." _Watson... oh, my poor friend!_

"Nikola told me," she whispered miserably. "I'm so sorry… Moriarty would… record… things… on Sally's phone…"

Holmes shook his head, mind reeling, a sobbing, hysterical laugh escaping him. "And you had to ask if he's still angry with me?!" Why in the world, after seeing any of that, would Watson _ever_ want to see him again?

Beth stroked his hair gently, heart aching. "Because I wanted to see... if you were as scared as he is..."

Holmes felt as if the bed had just dropped out from under them. Watson hating or despising him, he could bear the thought of that, it was no less than he deserved... but being _afraid_ of him...

Beth smoothed his hair away from his forehead and kissed it. "Sweetheart," she whispered, "please go to him."

 _How can I?_ The memory of Watson's face the very last time Holmes had seen him, such anger and contempt... and hurt... And if he did go back, how could he even begin to make things right between them? _Maybe... you could start by asking Watson that? At least it would_ _ **be**_ _a start..._

Beth rested her forehead against his. "Sherlock... please..." _Please listen—please_ _ **understand**_. "You're not the only one who needs to apologise... you owe each other that."

Did they? Holmes still wasn't convinced that Watson owed _him_ anything... and an apology seemed such a... a feeble beginning... but Beth was right, at the very least he had to try. He closed his eyes, sighing deeply, suddenly wishing they hadn't travelled so far from home. If he was going to do this, he'd much prefer to get it over with sooner rather than later, particularly since his nervousness was already off the scale. "Well..." He opened his eyes again with a small, shaky smile; "if you don't mind scraping me off the floor afterwards? Watson used a good deal of poetic license writing about my last return..." He couldn't help wincing faintly at that memory.

Beth made a faint noise of sympathy. "Don't tell me—I think I prefer the version where he faints."

Holmes bit his lip, answering ruefully, "He did." And just missed braining himself on the bookcase when he fell, Holmes had moved far too late to catch him...

She winced. "...and then knocked you out afterwards?" The image of Martin Freeman's Watson attempting to do bodily harm repeatedly to Benedict Cumberbatch's Holmes came to mind.

His lips twitched. "I thought you didn't want to know. No, not quite, but I did sport an impressive black eye for a while." Watson's fist had been a great deal more eloquent than his tongue about what he thought of Holmes's disappearing act.

Beth grimaced and groaned. "I _didn't_ want to know that!"

"You did ask," he sighed.

"Weyeeeeellll!"

Holmes sobered, that sound was painfully familiar. He'd barely thought about the Doctor since leaving Torchwood, it had been almost as distressing as thinking about Mycroft... _but you still owe him an apology, too, don't you?_ Assuming they _could_ get Time Lord and TARDIS out of the Rift...

Beth sighed. "Honey… please… I want to go home."

 _Home..._ And suddenly Holmes wanted to be back at 221B so badly he almost couldn't breathe. He looked up at Beth, smile anxious but wistful. "So do I."

She stared at him, almost afraid to hope. "Really?" she breathed.

He nodded mutely, a lump in his throat – his homesickness was getting the better of him now that he'd finally admitted it.

Eyes shining, she caressed his cheek and kissed him softly, joyfully, heart to bursting.

He kissed her back tenderly, tightening his arms around her; at least the journey back wouldn't be so bad with Beth providing moral support.

She hummed happily and pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, "Do you mean it? Can we really go home?"

He murmured back teasingly, "Well, I know this hasn't been much of a honeymoon." _Watson's never going to let you hear the end of this... Well, fine, if it means he's speaking to me again!_

She smiled and nuzzled him. "Yes, well…" She trailed her fingertips lazily up and down his neck. "Could have been better. We should go back and get a refund."

"Mm..." His eyes half-closed at her touch, it felt so nice... "Definitely."

She inhaled slowly and deeply, calming herself—he couldn't possibly be up to doing what she _wanted_ to do. He must still be feeling awful all over... "What if we could have a real honeymoon?" she said softly. "Where would you take me?"

He blinked. "I... don't know." He would have thought she'd had her fill of travel by now! "Where would you like to go?"

She blushed and ducked her head. "I have no idea… too many places I'd love to see, I guess… see for real." In warmer weather, in real daylight, not hiding or running for her life...

He kissed her hair, sighing, "Well, we've probably got the best place for a winter getaway, anyhow. If we ever do have the chance for a second honeymoon, I'd at least vote for somewhere warm."

She hummed thoughtfully, missing summer for a moment, then managed a smile. "Like a beach? I could do with a tanning." She was well aware that she hadn't looked so pale since she was a toddler, before she'd spent most of her summers out of doors.

Holmes smiled back warmly, liking that idea _very_ much. "Indeed?" He arched a suggestive eyebrow. "With or without a bathing costume, may I ask?"

Beth bit back a giggle. His incorrigibility when it came to... things like that... was as endearing and amusing as it was flattering. "Well, how 'bout you, mister? With or without a swimsuit? "

He grinned sheepishly as he realised he'd walked right into that one. "With." _He_ wasn't prepared to risk lying naked out in the open, thank you, however private the beach. "And in any case, I don't tan."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh no, nope, if _I'm_ going suit-less, _you're_ going suit-less and we'll _both_ turn cherry-red." She grinned.

He blushed, wincing at some very painful memories on that theme. "That's exactly my point: all I've ever achieved is a severe sunburn. I must have the wrong skin type, or something."

She narrowed her eyes in consideration. "Well… we'll have to see what we can do about that... We have to be scientific about these things, you know." She winked.

Holmes chuckled silently, and kissed the tip of her nose. "Incorrigible."

* * *

 **Sky:** Poor Sherlock! Especially with that nightmare... *shudder* And I know things are kind of looking up right now, but... well, we have one more chapter to go. As well as one more episode. Stay tuned!


	16. Because It's Real

**==Chapter 16==**

 **Because It's Real**

" _Why does it hurt so much?"_ _  
_ _"Because it was real."_

— _The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies_

Beth read one of the books that had been left behind in the chalet for a while before drifting off to sleep beside her still-below-one-hundred-percent husband. It seemed as though all she did these days was chop wood, sleep, and spend time with Sherlock, talking as well as... engaging in slightly more strenuous activity. It would have left her feeling restless and stir-crazy normally, but with only one meal a day, she didn't have enough energy for that.

She didn't know how long she'd slept when she woke up, but she felt well-rested (that was the biggest benefit of their holing-up here in the mountains: they might not be very energetic, but at least they weren't as tired anymore). She smiled at the sight of her husband still sleeping peacefully, and cautiously disentangled herself from him, intending to restart the fire in the common room. She kissed his forehead lightly, and his eyelids fluttered, a faint smile touching the corners of his mouth. He was still mostly asleep. He looked breathtakingly beautiful when he was...

She slipped out of bed, picked up her boots and her revolver, and padded out to the common room, shivering in the cold. _There really can't be much difference between indoors and outdoors now_. Dressed properly for the frigid temperatures, she hurried outside and over to the wood pile.

* * *

So close now... she was turning back to go inside, arms full of firewood... Moran's nostrils flared at the girl's scent – she'd given him such a splendid hunt, he couldn't wait to show her his gratitude... He drew his revolver and slid out from around the corner of the chalet, using her footsteps in the snow to mask the sound of his own. Coming up swiftly behind her, he reached out and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head back, keeping her off balance as he dug the muzzle of his firearm into the small of her back. "Shhh..."

Beth gasped, eyes wide, her heart freezing for a moment in utter terror as she recognised her captor. _No, no, no, not now, not now!_ Trembling, heart beating wildly, she inhaled slowly to calm herself. _**Think.**_ _Out-think him._ She let go of the firewood, which she couldn't quite keep a grip on anyway in her precarious position, but moved as if losing it and trying to regain her hold. She kicked a leg to bounce pieces of wood up and twisted halfway around as if losing her balance entirely (which she almost did,) but kicking wood back at Moran.

Damn! With his fingers tangled in her hair, Moran was pulled off balance himself, distracted further by the flying wood hitting him in the shins. This might be a little more difficult than he'd thought...

Beth used the momentum of her twist to swing a piece of wood back towards his torso, letting go when she felt it connect and grabbing for the gun. Her hand closed on it, and she tried to yank it forward and out of his hand.

Moran grunted as the wood struck his ribs, hand tightening on the revolver's grip. He yanked his fingers free of the girl's hair, now grappling for the gun with both hands.

Beth cried out and blinked back tears, and grabbed for the revolver with her other hand, adrenaline flooding her body and making her pull stronger. She opened her mouth and screamed her husband's name at the top her lungs.

* * *

" _SHERLOCK!_ "

"Beth?!" Snapped awake, Holmes all but fell out of bed in his haste, rushing barefoot and empty-handed out of the room. _Please be all right,_ _ **please**_ _..._

At the sound of the scream, Jones abandoned his post, running up to position himself just outside the front door. Damn Moran for botching this already! The man was a _professional_ , and he was allowing himself to be outmaneuvered by a girl!

Moran cursed, ears ringing from the little hoyden's banshee yell, letting go with his left hand to draw his knife... and the shifting balance caused his finger to tighten on the trigger, the frozen air seeming to shatter with the sudden explosion.

Beth gasped as something small and white-hot pierced her skin and blazed its way into her torso. Her next breath was agony, a strangled cry... _no, no_... nerveless fingers slipping off the gun... _breathe_... so much pain, flooding her... _you have to_ _ **breathe**_...

Holmes had just reached the door, staring in horror as Beth slumped to the ground, eyes glazed, face as white as the snow itself... _"NO!"_ Oblivious to everything else, he flew out the door towards her. He couldn't be too late, he just _couldn't_ , not this time, _not for Beth_...

Jones stared at the girl for a moment, shocked—her capture had been the primary object this time!—but recovered quickly enough to shoot Holmes with one of the drugged darts as he passed, the projectile striking him in the shoulderblade before it was dislodged by the motion.

Moran returned Beth's glassy stare, blood draining from his own face as he realised what he'd done. Even if, by some miracle, the girl survived such a wound... Moriarty would have no mercy when he heard about this, the Professor had made it very clear that he would not tolerate any more blunders. He took a shaking step backwards, gun hand dropping to his side. Whatever happened from here, he was a dead man walking...

Beth turned her gaze to Sherlock as he ran to her. _...oh, God, it hurts, make it stop hurting,_ _ **please**_ _..._ She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but could only manage an incoherent groan of pain. She clutched at her torso, blood seeping out around her fingers, every breath sending sharp fire through her abdomen... she wanted to stop breathing, it hurt so much... _stay awake_...

Barely even conscious of the cold, Holmes dropped to his knees in the snow beside Beth. "Beth! Just hold on, sweetheart, you're going to be all right..." Desperately trying to call to mind everything he'd ever learned from Watson, he placed his hand over hers, putting as much pressure on the wound as he could, which didn't feel like nearly enough. Eyes blazing, he looked up at Moran, snarling, "Don't just stand there, God damn it – help her!" Never mind that he'd fired the shot, the man must know _something_ about first aid in the field!

"I don-don't," she gasped out, every word sending fresh agony through her, "think... I-I-I... 'M s-sor-sorry..." A tear rolled down her cheek. She was scared... for herself and for him... _after everything we've been through... I can't leave him... I_ _ **can't**_ _! ...what will happen to him?_ _He can't... he needs me_...

Holmes shook his head frantically, insides twisting at the anguish in her voice, hoping desperately she couldn't see the terror in his eyes. "No, Beth, don't say that –you didn't do anything wrong!" His voice shook, limbs suddenly growing heavy, the adrenaline must be wearing off. "Stay with me, love, you have to hold on..." _Don't you dare go anywhere, Beth, don't you_ _ **dare**_ _...!_

She managed to lift a trembling, blood-stained hand to his face. _Dear God, I don't want to leave him_... "Sweet-heart... I d-don't th-think..."

Still keeping his distance, Moran cleared his throat. "Snow." He met the pair's gaze with difficulty as they both stared at him in confusion. "Put snow on the wound, next to the skin." Heaven knew why it worked, he just knew from experience that it did, although the chances were slim at this stage, anyhow.

In no position to be sceptical, Holmes feverishly scooped up a handful, moved Beth's hand away and lifted her shirt, packing the snow onto the entry wound. _**Please**_ _let this work..._ He had to get her inside soon, get her warm...

The haze that had been overtaking Beth's mind abruptly cleared in a blinding flash of pain. She doubled over, shaking, feebly pushing away at Sherlock's hand. She knew what he was doing, probably better than he did: cold made blood vessels constrict, slowed the flow... but there was already a dizzying amount of blood on her clothing, her hand, the snow... Almost fascinating, how much there was... _I'm going into shock... we don't even have a doctor anywhere nearby... need modern medical attention..._ Even Moran's sedative hadn't left her feeling this weak and dizzy and breathless. "Sh-Sherlock..." _I'm sorry, honey... please, just hold me, I'm so scared..._

Her eyes... Holmes's heart broke at that look, telling him more than words could that his beloved was... was truly... He choked back the sobs that were trying to break loose, but he couldn't stop the tears spilling over, he'd give _anything_ to save her, to not have to say goodbye... _but if you must..._ _let it be as bravely as you can, for her sake..._

He gently slid his increasingly heavy arm under Beth's shoulders, too weak by now to raise her; bent over her and wrapped his other arm around her, cradling her as best he could, his forehead resting on hers. _Stay with me, cherie!_

Her own tears fell silently as she struggled for breath, chest aching at the look on his face... First Mycroft and now her... it wasn't fair to him... "I... love... you..."

"I love _you!_ " he whispered back. His face twisted, tears falling from his cheeks to hers. "Oh, Elizabeth..." _Please don't go..._

She couldn't speak for a moment past the lump in her throat. _I don't want to leave you I don't want to leave you I don't want to leave you_... "P-please... make... make it... home... please..." He had to... he couldn't _not_ , not now...

 _I can't, Beth, please don't leave me, I can't do this without you!_ But he couldn't tell her so, that would hurt her even more... and if he lied, she would know, she always knew, just like Watson... Yet somehow, the thought of his friend still out there, waiting so anxiously for him to come back... gave Holmes just enough courage to look Beth in the eyes and give a small, shaky nod. _I will try, cherie... for you..._

She smiled slightly past her tears, relieved. _John will take care of him... he has to_... She gathered up what was left of her strength and leaned up just enough to touch her lips to his.

He couldn't manage a smile of his own, but kissed her back tenderly, trying to put everything into it that he still couldn't say aloud. How he would miss her... "I love you... Elizabeth Holmes..."

At least... at least he would be the last thing she saw... at least she was able to say goodbye... "Love... you... Sher..." Her breath left her entirely, her vision going dark... his large grey eyes, luminous with tears, the last thing she remembered...

He couldn't move... couldn't breathe... gaze fixed on her white face, his whole body numb but for the stabbing pain in his chest, the blade of ice was back, twisting slowly... With a mighty effort, he managed to lift his hand clumsily and pass it down over her empty eyes, closing them, hand coming to rest on her tear-stained cheek. She looked so peaceful now... as if she were only sleeping... His grief surged up and choked him, sobs beginning to wrench free, shoulders shaking... until the sound of a pistol cocking penetrated the haze. Moran...

Holmes took a deep, shuddering breath, just managing to turn his heavy head to look at the Colonel, all at once feeling incredibly calm – if he had to die, he would prefer it to be like this... _I'm so sorry, Watson... wait for me, Beth, I'll be with you soon..._ but his eyes widened in disbelief on seeing Moran holding the revolver to his own right temple!

"No...!" It couldn't end like this for Moran, it just couldn't, he couldn't let the man escape what he deserved so easily, not after what he'd done to Beth, Holmes had _promised_ her...

Moran could see the detective trying desperately to move, but the serum had almost finished its work – Holmes's arm under the girl's shoulders was all that kept him from collapsing altogether. A pity, really, he'd had half a mind to let the man have his way, pull the trigger himself... But it had been a good run, and his regrets were fewer than they might have been – one couldn't really ask much more. "Good luck with the old man," he grinned wryly, and fired without hesitating.

Jones watched in shock as the left side of the Colonel's head exploded outward, his body toppling forward into the snow. " _Damn you_ , Moran," he growled. He didn't mind the opportunity for personal advancement, but Moran had all but destroyed this mission single-handed. Jones trudged over to the pathetic-looking detective and lifted him. "Come on, Holmes—let's get you ready to go home."

Suddenly aware of the agent's presence for the first time, Holmes tried to resist, to hold onto Beth, but his fingers wouldn't even close. "What have you done?!"

"Don't worry, it's only a sedative." Jones bore the feather-light detective back into the house; the man needed boots and a coat if he was going to survive the trip. "You'll be unconscious soon, and on your way back to London."

"What about Beth? You can't leave her there, what if...?" Holmes choked, unable to say it, but he could imagine all too easily what might happen if a wolf pack were to happen past – though they were welcome to Moran's remains! "...please..." he rasped, voice all but gone. Having to beg was incredibly galling, but he was entirely dependent on his captor's goodwill.

Jones hummed as though considering it. "I don't know—isn't meat getting scarcer around here?" People all over the world had been driven to cannibalism; the villagers might be grateful for the opportunity...

Holmes turned white, trembling with fury. It took every ounce of self control he had not to respond – even Moran at his worst had never been this sadistic... and Jones might not have pulled the trigger, but Holmes knew exactly what this bastard had coming to him if he ever got the chance.

Jones smirked and set the detective down on the couch. Well, the Director would want the girl's body to be taken care of; the man seemed to hold her in high regard. "Ah, well, I suppose I can lay her in the bedroom."

Though the words were like acid in his mouth, Holmes forced himself to say it: "...thank you..." His eyelids were leaden, thoughts growing clouded, darkness rising to claim him... and this time he embraced it willingly. Given the choice... he'd never wake up again...

 **To Be Continued...**

 **in Episode 13: 'Together Or Not At All'**

* * *

 **Ria:** Don't say it, we know, we're horrible people! *sniff* And don't think we didn't hate doing it, either! But like Holmes and Watson breaking up in the first place, this has been one of the story's Fixed Points – in more than ways than one...

 **Sky:** And if we'd kept to our current posting schedule, Beth would have died right after Christmas. We figured that wasn't a good Christmas present (believe me, we really have been just as devastated as you), so we're posting chapters right now every other day—yes, of the next episode, last of the season finale!—for a week. Stay tuned, and enjoy the final episode!


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